|AiM)lE50N 


HI*  BOOK 


"SHE   TURNED    INTO    THE   OLD    GARDEN 


DOCTOR    WARRICK'S    DAUGHTERS 


1Rov>el 


BY 


REBECCA  HARDING  DAVIS 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW     YORK 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

1896 


Copyright,  1896,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS. 
All  rights  reserved. 


TO 

C.  B.  D. 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"SHE  TURNED   INTO  THE   OLD   GARDEN"  .      .      .       Frontispiece 

"'TO    THINK     MY    FATHER     IS    TO     DO     THIS 

GREAT   WORK  !'" Facing  page     48 

"GLANCING  IN  AT  NED" "     "        70 

"A     WOMAN     WAS     WALKING     OUT     UPON     A 

ROTTEN  PIER" "  106 

"PLUNKETT  DREW  A  STARTLED  BREATH"  .  "  "  I2O 
"'GIVE  ME  THE  PISTOL  NOW,  NED'".  .  .  "  "  134 
"PRESENTLY  SHE  SAT  DOWN  TO  THINK  OUT 

HER  PLAN" "  "  150 

"ITS  ROWS  OF  LIGHTS  GLEAMING  THROUGH 

THE  DARKNESS" "  178 

"SHE  RAN  HER  FINGER  CURIOUSLY  OVER 

THE  BRICKS  " I9O 

"AS  JOHN  LOOKED  AT  IT  THE  SLOW  TEARS 

ROSE  TO  ins  EYES" "  202 

"'I  DID  YOU  AN  INJUSTICE,'  HE  SAID"  .  .  "  22O 

"SOME  MEN  PASSING  STARED  CURIOUSLY  A.T 

HIM" MM      244 

"ON  THE  OLD  SETTEE  ON  THE  PORCH"  .     .  "  "  '258 

"'I'VE  BEEN  QUITE  FRANK  WITH  ANNE*"  .  "  "  266 
"  THE  DOCTOR  TURNED  AWAY  WHEN  DAVID 

WENT  TO  IT".                          ^  "  "  288 


DOCTOR  WARRICK'S    DAUGHTERS 


CHAPTER   I 

DOCTOR  SAMUEL  WARRICK  was  a  surgeon  in  a 
Federal  regiment  from  the  beginning  to  the  end 
of  the  Civil  War.  His  wife,  in  the  meantime, 
lived  with  her  children  in  the  old  Warrick  home 
stead  near  Luxborough  in  eastern  Pennsylvania. 

Even  as  early  as  '65,  Luxborough  was  called  a 
city  by  the  contractors  who  had  recently  pushed 
in  and  built  mills.  They  elected  themselves 
mayors  and  councilmen  :  their  dwellings  rose 
around  the  new  Park  near  the  Works  with  Greek 
porticos  in  front  and  Ottoman  minarets  at  the 
back,  and  within,  much  plenishing  of  gilt  and 
plush  and  vases  of  alabaster. 

The  old  settlers,  who  lived  in  crooked,  shady 
lanes  on  the  hill,  ignored  these  people  and  their 
city.  They  always  talked  of  "our  little  burgh" 
with  proud  humility  :  as  the  great  Louis  was 
known  to  his  people  only  as  "  Monsieur,"  because 
there  could  be  but  one  gentleman  in  France.  Of 
course  they  knew  that  there  were  other  towns  in 
the  country,  but  they  thought  of  them  vaguely,  as 
one  does  of  affairs  in  the  Antarctic  circle.  Lux- 
borough  was  the  final  result  of  the  creation.  For 
it  Columbus  had  sailed,  and  Washington  fought, 


and  the  Bible  been  written.  They  delighted  to 
tell  each  other  that  "  with  our  resources  and 
water  power  we  could  easily  have  surpassed  Phila 
delphia  at  any  time.  But  our  people,  sir,  have 
had  higher  pursuits  than  trade."  A  small  college 
gave  a  scholastic  flavor  to  the  pursuits  of  some 
citizens;  others  were  army  and  navy  officers  on 
half  pay;  still  others  derived  their  support  from 
the  meagre  dividends  of  the  venerable  Lux- 
borough  Bank.  But  a  meagre  income  did  not 
interfere  with  the  self-respect  of  any  Luxbor- 
oughan.  He  wrapped  his  poverty  about  him 
as  a  royal  garment  and  smiled  down  patronage 
on  the  world. 

Now,  these  people  all  knew  that  their  fore 
fathers  had  been  Swedish  peasants  who  came 
over  on  the  Key  of  Calmar :  or  mechanics  and 
cotters  brought  to  his  principality  by  Penn.  But 
had  they  not  founded  Luxborough  ?  That  was 
a  patent  of  nobility  in  the  minds  of  their  descend 
ants,  who  clung  fondly  to  their  old  oak  chests  and 
chain  clocks. 

The  young  people,  it  is  true,  had  talked  much, 
of  late,  of  certain  Scotch  lords  and  English 
baronets,  whom,  without  regard  to  Burke  and 
Debrett,  they  declared  to  be  their  ancestors  and 
whose  crests  they  uneasily  adopted. 

Luxborough  asserted  itself,  however,  most 
strenuously  in  the  Monthly  Whist  Club  (estab 
lished  A.  D.  1767).  The  mill-owners  beat  in  vain 
at  its  closed  doors.  They  jeered  at  the  sand 
wiches  and  tea  which  were  its  fixed  features,  but 
their  hearts  were  sore  with  envy.  These  homely 


simplicities  showed  a  superb  contempt  for  the 
vulgar  splendor  of  their  balls  and  costly  suppers. 
Once  a  year  minuets  were  danced  at  the  club, 
the  girls  wearing  their  grandmothers'  brocade 
gowns.  The  patronesses  "requested  the  honour 
of  your  presence  "  on  the  backs  of  playing  cards, 
as  the  club  had  done  when  Dolly  Madison  or 
Nelly  Custis  were  its  guests.  These  things 
furnished  the  new-comers  with  endless  gibes. 
But  the  old  Luxboroughans  smiled  and  vouch 
safed  no  answer.  They  were  sure  that  their  town, 
with  its  patrician  caste,  was  as  unique  in  the  world 
as  a  Rome  or  a  Damascus. 

For  the  rest,  their  minds  were  chiefly  con 
cerned  with  their  food  and  the  squabbles  of 
the  High  and  Low  churches.  They  were  all 
good  housekeepers  and  churchgoers,  and,  let  the 
world  rage  as  it  would,  the  excellence  of  their 
hams  and  jellies  and  missionaries  were  firm 
foundations  on  which  they  stood  impregnable. 
So  deep  was  their  complacency  that  if  a  Lux- 
boroughan  went  out  into  the  world  and  found  suc 
cess,  his  old  neighbors  scowled  askance  at  him. 
Why  should  he  go  out  into  the  world  ?  Could  he 
not  have  the  best  of  hams  and  the  Monthly  Club 
at  home  ?  They  would  not  clap  their  hands  for 
him. 

Young  Logue  was  the  foremost  American 
sculptor  in  Rome  for  years,  and  George  Parr, 
the  philologist,  was  recognized  by  the  greatest 
of  German  scholars.  He  was  for  months  the 
honored  guest  of  Queen  Sophie  in  the  Huis  ten 
Bosch. 


But  when  the  two  men  came  home  Luxborough 
passed  them  with  an  icy  nod.-  No  cards  were 
sent  them  for  the  club.  "They  have  good 
blood,"  said  Mrs.  Hayes,  who  was  patroness  that 
year.  "  But  it  is  safer  to  keep  out  all  artistic 
riffraff."  She  felt  that  they  should  be  taught 
that  Luxborough  was  its  own  world.  Roman 
studios  and  foreign  courts  were  but  as  the  rim  to 
its  cup. 

Naturally,  men  of  ability  who  were  born  in  the 
town  and  could  not  push  out  into  the  world  did 
not  find  these  things  as  ludicrous  as  they  seemed 
to  Doctor  Parr  or  John  Logue.  They  com 
plained  that  they  were  stifled:  sunk  in  a  slough, 
not  of  despond,  but  of  self-satisfied  mediocrity. 

Doctor  Warrick  was  one  of  these  men.  The 
war  gave  him  his  first  chance  to  draw  a  full 
breath  of  life.  His  wife,  on  the  contrary,  was 
calm  and  self-contained  as  any  Luxboroughan, 
although  she  came  from  another  city.  Certain 
idiosyncrasies  belong  to  all  Pennsylvanian  towns 
as  though  they  were  first  cousins. 

Mrs.  Warrick  lived  a  couple  of  miles  outside  of 
the  borough.  She  ignored  the  town  as  the  town 
did  the  rest  of  the  earth.  Her  children,  her 
garden,  the  cook,  the  turkeys — here  was  the 
world.  Even  the  war  threw  but  a  far-off  shadow 
through  the  windows  of  her  cheerful  lighted 
home. 

She  had  her  anxieties,  however.  She  was 
forced  to  economize  closely,  as  her  husband  was 
apt  to  lend  part  of  every  quarter's  salary  to  some 
needy  friend  in  camp.  Sometimes,  what  with 


tobacco  to  the  prisoners  and  suppers  to  the  staff, 
he  would  have  none  left  to  send  home. 

"Your  papa" — she  would  say,  with  kindling 
eyes,  when  this  happened — "your  papa  is  the 
most  generous  of  men  !  He  is  giving  his  life  to 
his  country,  and  he  would  give  his  last  dollar  to 
any  body  who  needs  it.  Well,  thank  God,  the 
dear  soul  has  it  to  give  ! "  Then  she  would  go 
to  work  to  nip  ten  cents  here  and  there  out  of 
meat  and  butter  bills  to  make  up  the  deficit. 

WThen  the  news  of  Lee's  surrender  came  the 
neighboring  women  rejoiced  loyally  together  in 
their  sanitary  committees,  but  she  fell  to  clean 
ing  house  to  be  ready  for  the  doctor. 

Her  nephew,  Brooke  Calhoun,  a  noisy  boy  who 
had  rushed  in  from  the  country  when  the  news 
came,  hauled  down  the  flags  from  the  garret 
early  in  the  morning.  "I'll  put  one  out  of  each 
window,"  he  shouted.  Anne,  a  lean  child  of  ten, 
clattered  down  the  stairs  after  him,  loaded  with 
nails  and  hammer.  Mrs.  Warrick  came  in  from 
her  crocus-beds  with  rnuddy  fingers. 

"  No,  I  think  not,  Brooke,  dear,"  she  said 
gently,  "not  flags;  it  is  peace,  you  know.  Your 
uncle  has  been  through  such  horrors  in  these 
years — knee-deep,  you  might  say,  in  blood  and 
mud — that  I  thought  the  house  ought  to  be  very 
quiet  and  clean  for  him.  Just  home.  No  flags — 
evergreen  now,  twisted  around  the  pillars  and 
over  the  door  ?  What  do  you  think  ? " 

"All  right,"  Brooke  said.  But  he  and  Anne 
scowled  as  they  nailed  up  the  hemlock.  Their 
souls  were  clothed  upon  with  victory  and  blood 


to-day.  Brooke  banged  the  nails  viciously.  The 
whole  North  was  resplendent  in  red,  white,  and 
blue  ;  why  must  he  carry  out  the  idea  of  a  ridic 
ulous  woman  ?  As  for  Anne,  she  hid  one  of  the 
flags.  She  intended  presently  to  go  to  a  window 
in  the  barn  which  opened  on  the  road,  and,  wrap 
ping  it  around  her,  pose  there  as  Liberty,  for 
passers-by  to  see.  Sometimes  she  covered  herself 
with  a  piece  of  old  mosquito  netting  and  stood 
there,  hoping  that  people  would  take  her  for  a 
bride.  Mrs.  Warrick,  who  kept  her  little  girls 
apart  from  the  villagers  as  if  they  were  nuns, 
never  dreamed  of  these  tricks  of  the  child. 

Mildred  Warrick,  a  girl  of  fourteen,  stood 
silently  watching  her  sister  and  Brooke,  slowly 
turning  her  innocent  blue  eyes  from  one  to  the 
other.  They  never  asked  for  her  opinion  in 
their  disputes.  Her  mouth  was  as  dumb  as  her 
eyes.  Nobody  had  ever  known  the  soft,  chubby 
creature  to  have  an  opinion  since  she  was  born. 
T.\Vhen  they  were  seated  at  breakfast  Mrs.  War 
rick  looked  around  her  with  a  beaming  face. 
Her  regency  was  nearly  over.  Surely  Samuel 
would  think  she  had  not  managed  badly  ? 

Five  years  ago,  at  parting,  the  doctor  had 
made  over  the  property  to  her.  "You'll  make 
ducks  and  drakes  of  it,  of  course,  being  a 
woman,"  he  said,  with  a  shrug.  "But  what  else 
can  I  do?" 

When  they  were  married  the  house  had  been 
surrounded  for  several  miles  by  the  Warrick 
estate.  But  the  doctor,  from  time  to  time,  to 
pull  himself  out  of  debt,  had  sold  farm  after 


farm,  until  only  the  old  apple  orchard  was  left 
on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  the  garden  where 
his  wife  worked  all  day  among  her  pease  and 
beans. 

''If  my  wife  breathes  on  a  seed  it  turns  into 
a  rose,"  he  used  to  say  fondly,  which  pleased  her 
so  much  that  she  did  not  notice  that  he  never 
helped  her  to  weed  the  rose-bed. 

In  front  of  the  house  a  grassy  field  sloped  to 
the  road,  and  upon  it  three  or  four  huge,  ancient 
oaks  threw  an  always  grave  and  solemn  shadow. 

The  homestead,  like  most  Colonial  houses  in 
Eastern  Pennsylvania,  was  built  of  black-lined 
English  brick  in  a  large,  unmeaning  square.  The 
doctor  liked  to  tell  of  the  entertainments  which 
long  dead  Warricks  had  given  here  to  Washing 
ton,  or  to  wandering  Bourbon  princes,  and  there 
was  still  a  lingering  flavor  of  gracious  hospitality 
in  the  noble  proportions  of  the  lofty  apartments 
and  the  vast  fireplaces,  with  their  unwieldy  brass 
dogs  glittering  in  the  flame.  Time  had  softened 
the  florid  splendors  of  the  frescoed  nymphs  on 
the  ceiling  and  yellowed  the  marble  Caryatides 
of  the  mantel-pieces  :  even  the  gorgeous  roses 
on  the  carpets  had  faded  into  soft,  dull  hues  on 
which  the  sunshine  fell  pleasantly.  The  great 
mahogany  chairs  on  which  the  children  sat  at 
the  table  shone  in  it,  black  with  age. 

"  Your  papa  will  find  no  change  in  the  house 
when  he  comes,"  Mrs.  Warrick  said  compla 
cently,  "and  I  have  not  sold  an  inch  of  ground, 
either." 

"That  is  a  pity,"  said  Brooke.      "If  you  had 


8 


sold  Matthew  Plunkett  the  orchard,  and  he  had 
built  his  big  villa  there,  it  would  have  sent  up  the 
value  of  this  property  five  hundred  per  cent." 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  his  aunt  indifferently. 
"We  have  enough  of  money.  I  did  not  care  to 
have  the  Plunketts  for  neighbors,  or  any  of  the 
new  rich  clique." 

"Here  comes  Dave  Plunkett  now,"  said 
Anne.  "He  writes  poetry,"  she  whispered  to 
Brooke.  "He  reads  his  tragedies  to  mamma 
while  she  plants  her  seeds!  He  waddles  after 
her  through  the  paths  like  a  tame  dog." 

"I  will  not  bring  my  tragedy,  when  I  write  it, 
to  Aunt  Sarah,"  said  Brooks  gravely,  looking  at 
the  jolly  face  and  tawdry  plaid  gown  of  the  stout 
old  lady. 

An  enormously  fat  lad,  gaudily  (Tressed,  came 
into  the  room,  and,  after  greeting  them  with  a 
bob  of  the  head,  dropped  into  a  seat  and  fell  to 
work  voraciously  at  the  scrapple  and  hot  toast. 
He  paused  long  enough  to  mumble: 

"  When  d'ye  expect  the  doctor,  Mrs.  Warrick  ?  " 

"Next  week.  WTe  are  almost  ready.  The 
grates  must  be  polished  and  the  pictures  hung." 

"Why  did  not  you  keep  the  prints  on  the 
walls  for  your  own  comfort  all  these  years, 
Aunt  Sarah  ?  "  said  Brooke. 

"The  frames  would  have  tarnished,  and  besides 
I  take  no  interest  in  pictures,"  she  said,  calmly 
sipping  her  coffee. 

"And  yet  they  count  for  so  much  to  the 
doctor  !  He  must  have  grown  thin,  kept  away 
from  such  things  so  long  ! "  the  boy  said. 


"George  !  how  he  will  scamper  around  to 
theatres  and  old  book-shops  when  he  comes  ! 
And  how  the  money  will  fly  !  " 

"  I'll  go  with  him  !  "  piped  Anne  shrilly. 

Mrs.  Warrick,  her  cup  in  her  hand,  turned  her 
broad  red  face  from  one  to  the  other  with  a 
startled  stare.  In  the  last  five  years  she  had 
learned  to  look  upon  her  husband  only  as  a  hero, 
facing  death  for  a  great  cause. 

But — .  Why,  of  course  he  would  run  about  to 
theatres  and  book-shops,  irritable,  voluble;  in 
a  paroxysm  of  rapture  one  minute  over  a  first 
edition,  and  a  paroxysm  of  misery  the  next  over 
a  limp  collar.  And  she — always  outside  of  his 
paroxysms  !  The  old  days  flashed  up  distinctly 
before  her.  His  finest  engraving  was  no  more 
to  her  than  black  scratches  on  paper.  Clothes 
were  to  her  only  a  troublesome  covering  for  the 
body.  He  had  poetic  ideas  about  color  and 
drapery  which  she  never  could  understand.  How 
tired  she  used  to  be  trying  to  understand,  to  keep 
up.  But  Samuel  never  saw  it.  He  would  keep 
her  for  an  hour  descanting  on  the  lines  of  a 
Morghen  when  she  was  frantic  to  go  and  devil 
the  crabs  for  supper. 

Milly  watched  her  anxiously.  She  caught  her 
hand  under  the  table.  "  Is  papa  like  that?  "  she 
whispered.  "Would  he  waste  your  little  bit  of 
money  on  such  trash  ? " 

"Mildred!"  she  shook  off  her  hand.  "You 
don't  know  your  father.  He  is  a  man  who — why 
—he  has  great  ideas,  great  purposes!  He 
stands  head  and  shoulders  above  other  men, 


10 


like  Cato  or  Nelson,  or — or — Lafayette.  He 
has  been  risking  his  life  for  years,  and  you  would 
begrudge  him  a  little  miserable  money?  He 
lives  away  above  us  with  his  books  and  his  pic 
tures.  You'll  see." 

"Why!  I  didn't  mean  any  thing!  I  am 
sorry!"  stammered  Brooke,  amazed  at  this  out 
break.  He  wanted  to  laugh.  Love  between 
people  of  his  own  age  was  a  divine  thing,  but  the 
devotion  of  this  old  woman  with  a  mole  on  her 
nose  to  the  fussy  little  surgeon  was  like  a  farce 
on  the  stage. 

David  Plunkett,  who  had  been  watching  Mrs. 
Warrick,  broke  in  at  this  crisis: 

"  Calhoun,  did  you  know  I  thought  of  going 
to  Princeton  ?  Father  says  I  can,  if  I  like." 

"Well,  do  you  like?"  said  Brooke  gruffly, 
with  an  uneasy  glance  at  his  aunt's  dim  eyes. 

"  Better'n  any  thing.  It  seems  as  if  I  ought  to 
have  the  chance,  too.  There's  Sims  the  butcher's 
sendin'  his  son  to  Yale,  an'  Warren — you  know 
Jo  Warren — he's  workin'  his  way  through  Har 
vard.  If  I — think  of  me  graduatin'  first  honor- 
man  in  Princeton!  "  He  stretched  out  his  huge 
arms  with  a  deep  breath. 

Brooke  looked  at  him  a  moment  and  then  said 
respectfully,  "It  will  take  a  lot  of  work,  Pud." 

"  I  don't  mind  work.  I've  got  a  fine  brain. 
If  I  do  it  at  all,  I'll  go  in  for  bein'  a  professor. 
Why,  I'd  rather  be  a  teacher  sittin'  up  there  with 
a  lot  of  men  before  me,  knowin'  things  that  they 
don't  know,  than  be  President!" 

"Why  don't  you  go  to    college  then?"  said 


II 


Brooke  impatiently.  "Your  father's  reckoned 
an  eight-million  man — he  can  afford  it.  What 
hinders  you  ?  " 

David  munched  a  great  mouthful  deliberately 
before  he  spoke.  "  Eight  million  ?  P'r'aps.  But 
you  see,  if  I'm  to  be  an  oil  man  like  pap,  I've  to 
begin  now.  College  graduates  don't  count  in 
business.  You've  got  to  be  trained  young." 

"It  does  not  need  much  training  to  measure 
tanks  of  oil  and  take  pay." 

"So  !  that's  your  idea  of  the  oil  business,  is 
it?"  said  David  contemptuously.  "My  father 
began  without  a  dollar,  sir.  But  he  knows  oil 
and  gas.  He's  got  the  sharpest  eye  for  indica 
tions  of  any  man  in  the  State.  That's  what 
brought  him  the  eight  millions.  If  I  mean  to 
carry  on  the  business,  I've  got  to  go  in  training 
now.  I  must  give  up  college." 

Brooke  laughed.  "  Well,  go  in  training,  then! 
You  won't  have  money  enough  ! " 

David  looked  at  him  steadily,  a  sharp  cunning 
creeping  into  his  flabby  white  face.  "  Millions 
breed  billions,  is  the  old  saying.  But  you've  got 
to  nurse  'em  well.  You  can't  have  too  much 
money  nowadays" — his  catlike  eyes  twinkling. 

"I  am  ashamed  of  you,  David!"  said  Mrs. 
Warrick.  "  You  are  going  to  sell  your  birthright 
for  pottage  that  you  don't  need! " 

"Oh!  Nobody  but  you  ever  thought  I  had  a 
birthright,  Mrs.  Warrick."  David  rose  and  went 
to  her  side,  a  queer  tremor  on  his  broad  face. 
"  I  brought  sumthin'  for  you  to  read  to-day,  but 
I  guess  you're  too  busy!  " 


12 


"A  poem!"  she  said,  smiling  kindly.  "Come 
this  evening,  my  boy.  I  am  going  to  town 
now." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  go.  'Mornin!  "  he  muttered, 
with  a  general  nod. 

"'By,  Pud,"  said  Brooke. 

"Good-morning,  Mr.  Plunkett,"  lisped  Milly 
respectfully  as  he  passed  her.  He  stopped  short, 
his  face  red  with  delight,  and  held  out  his  hand. 
She  took  it  reluctantly,  and  as  the  unwieldy  body 
lumbered  out  rubbed  her  fingers  with  a  shudder. 

"Why  were  you  civil  to  him  then?"  cried 
Anne.  "  He  thinks  the  world  is  made  up  of 
Dave  Plunkett!" 

Mrs.  Warrick  looked  after  Dave  with  alarm. 
What  would  the  doctor  say  when  he  found  this 
rough  lad  an  habitue  of  the  house  ? 

Her  soul  was  full  of  alarms.  It  was  not  a 
hero  who  was  coming;  it  was — Samuel.  How 
Milly's  lisp  would  worry  him!  Anne's  clumsi 
ness  would  drive  him  mad.  Heavens!  why  must 
the  child  wave  her  arms  and  legs  about  like 
that! 

As  she  sat  silent  behind  the  coffee  urn  the 
world  suddenly  grew  askew  around  her.  It  must 
be  set  straight  in  a  day  for  Samuel. 

If  she  were  only  one  of  these  superior  women 
coming  to  the  front  now,  who  organized  sanitary 
commissions  or  lectured  on  the  war!  But  Sarah 
was  only  clever  in  gardening.  She  was  a  goo^l- 
humored  creature.  The  knowledge  of  her  inferi 
ority  never  had  hurt  her  as  it  did  to-day.  If  she 
had  even  kept  her  pretty  white-and-pink  skin! 


She  glanced  at  the  mirror.     Samuel  used  to  think 
so  much  of  that  ! 

Then  a  fiery  passion  rose  in  her.  He  ought 
not  to  ask  whether  her  skin  was  white  or  black! 
If  she  were  an  idiot,  he  shouldn't  care!  She  had 
loved  him  so.  These  things  were  trifles — trifles! 
Sarah's  thoughts  as  usual  soon  dropped  to  the 
basis  of  hard  common-sense.  She  was  not  to 
blame  if  she  had  been  born  without  the  wit  and 
taste  which  her  husband  and  children  had.  She 
had  at  least  made  them  live  up  to  their  own  high 
standard. 

"Why  do  you  shriek  so,  Anne  ? "  she  said  now, 
irritably;  "other  girls  do  it,  but  you  cannot. 
How  often  must  I  tell  you  ?  You  are  a  Warrick. 
A  Warrick  cannot  be  loud  or  pushing  any  more 
than  she  can  be  dishonest  or  cowardly.  Your 
father  will  expect  to  find  you  fit  to  bear  your 
name." 

Brooke,  who  was  reading  the  newspaper,  threw 
it  down.  "They  are  going  to  disband  the 
troops!  It  is  to  be  peace,  sure  enough!"  he 
cried.  "  I  thought  there  always  would  be  fight 
ing  here  and  there,  and  in  a  year  I  could  go  in. 
I've  had  hard  luck,  to  be  only  a  boy  while  this 
scrimmage  was  going  on.  Now,  I've  no  chance." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Warrick  eagerly,  "we  may 
have  a  war  with  England  soon,  and  then  you  can 
go  in.  A  man  always  has  the  chance  to  do  credit 
to  his  name." 

"Why,  I  am  not  a  Warrick,  cousin  Sarah. 
Nor  you.  We  are  Dacres." 

"Yes,  and  the  Dacres  always  stood  by  their 


creed  till  death.  There  was  a  Dacre  burned  at 
Smithfield,  and  my  grandfather  was  whipped  by 
the  Puritans  in  Massachusetts.  On  his  grave 
stone  it  says,  '  He  was  the  son  of  generations  of 
fearless  confessors. '  You  are  descended  from  him, 
Brooke,"  said  Mrs.  Warrick,  with  kindling  eyes. 

Brooke  laughed.  "  Oh,  I've  no  doubt  the  Puri 
tan  creed  was  as  nearly  right  as  his  own.  He 
ought  to  have  met  them  half-way  comfortably, 
and  so  dodged  the  whipping.  We've  outgrown 
that  sort  of  thing!  You  are  a  churchwoman,  but 
you  don't  want  to  burn  Father  Riley,  nor  the 
Plunketts,  who  are  Methodists." 

"I'd  as  lief  go  to  the  stake  myself  as  to  Mass 
or  to  the  Methodist  revivals,"  she  said  doggedly. 

Brooke  laughed,  and  took  Anne  to  feed  the 
cows.  Her  mother  looked  after  her  anxiously. 
Would  Samuel  be  satisfied  with  the  girls  ?  She 
knew  nothing  of  modern  training.  One  or  two 
ideas  had  seemed  to  her  of  authority:  the  Church 
and  the  family  honor.  She  had  helped  herself 
in  her  weeding  and  darning  by  thinking  of  Jane 
Dacre  tied  to  the  stake.  But  was  this  sort  of 
thing  enough  for  the  girls  ? 

"  Elegance  of  deportment,"  "  grace  of  atti 
tude" — some  of  the  doctor's  favorite  phrases 
came  back  to  nag  her  honest  soul. 

Milly  was  patting  her  hand  fondly.  "  Mamma, 
Anne  does  not  understand,"  she  said ;  "  she  would 
not  be  burned  sooner  than  be  a  Methodist,  but  / 
would." 

"Oh,  yes;  certainly,  dear,"  her  mother  said 
impatiently. 


If  Anne  had  said  that  it  would  mean  some 
thing.  But  Milly's  mind  was  so  easily  filled  and 
emptied!  When  Mrs.  Warrick  had  an  opinion, 
she  knew  as  certainly  that  Milly  would  echo  it 
as  that  a  cup  of  water  would  reflect  a  passing 
color. 

"She  will  be  what  I  am  while  I  am  with  her," 
she  thought.  "  Well,  I  shall  probably  always  be 
with  her.  Even  when  the  girls  are  married,  I 
shall  look  after  them  a  bit." 

She  made  haste  now  to  catch  the  train  into 
town.  It  was  a  threatening  day.  Heavy  clouds 
drifted  through  the  thin  April  sunshine.  Brooke 
walked  with  her  to  the  little  station.  "I  have 
an  appointment  with  the  oculist,"  she  explained; 
"my  eyes  have  suddenly  failed.  I  must  have 
glasses  before  Samuel  comes.  Brooke,  what  do 
you  think  of  this  gown  ?  It  is  my  best,  but  the 
figures  are  so  bold.  It  was  cheap,  but  I  wish  I 
had  bought  a  better  one — and  the  red  ginghams 
the  girls  wear  ?  He  has  such  exquisite  taste." 

"Don't  bother!  What  are  gowns?"  the  boy 
growled.  He  could  not  put  it  into  words,  but  if 
Doctor  Warrick  could  not  see  how  unlike  to  all 
other  girls  these  were  in  their  solitary  life  with 
their  mother;  with  their  queer  unworldly  notions 
about  their  Warrick  blood  and  souls  inherited 
from  martyrs  ?  If  he  made  it  a  question  of 
gowns  ?  He  kicked  a  stone  viciously  which  lay 
in  his  way. 

"  What  day  does  he  come  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  He  leaves  it  for  me  to  decide.  He  can  run 
up  on  furlough,  returning  when  his  regiment  is 


i6 


mustered  out,  or  wait  and  come  then  to  stay.     Of 
course  I  shall  write  for  him  to  come  at  once,  if 
only  for  a  day- 
She    did    not    finish    the    sentence.     Brooke 
glanced  at  her  face,  and  turned  quickly  away. 

"  Here  is  your  train,"  he  said  gently. 

Sarah  Warrick  is  of  no  interest  in  this  history. 
The  chapter  which  concerns  her  must  be  brief. 

She  waited  an  hour  in  the  oculist's  outer 
office,  her  mind  busy  with  calculations  of  the 
cost  of  a  plainer  gown  and  the  time  she  would 
need  to  make  it.  At  last  her  turn  came,  and  she 
entered  the  operating-room. 

Doctor  Swan  was  an  old  man,  whom  she  had 
known  since  her  childhood.  He  was  standing 
when  she  came  in,  and  greeted  her  gravely.  She 
fancied  that  he  looked  anxious.  He  was  a  sym 
pathetic  man,  in  spite  of  his  dry  manner.  Some 
patient,  perhaps,  whose  case  he  found  incurable. 

"How  much  longer  will  the  examination 
last  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  have  been  looking  at  these 
tedious  letters  and  wheels  for  five  days.  Can 
you  not  tell  me  what  ails  my  eyes  to-day  ? " 

"Yes,  I  think  I  can,"  he  said. 

At  another  time  she  might  have  been  startled 
by  his  unsmiling  face,  but  just  then  she  thought 
of  a  nainsook  wrapper,  soft  and  creamy  white — 
Samuel  would  delight  in  that,  unless — was  she 
too  old  to  wear  white  ? 

Doctor  Swan  meanwhile  led  her  into  a  dark 
closet  and  turned  a  strong  light  into  her  eyes. 
"I  must  trouble  you  with  this  once  more.  I 
must  be  sure  that  I  am  right,"  he  said.  As  she 


moved  her  eyes  up  and  down  at  his  bidding,  she 
hesitated  about  embroidery  for  the  gown.  It 
would  be  costly,  but  Samuel  liked  lace  so 
much 

"  Now  to  the  left.     That  will  do." 

He  drew  back,  wiping  the  little  mirror  that  he 
held. 

"  Have  you  finished  already  ? " 

"Yes,  I  have  finished." 

"  I  am  very  glad.  I  am  so  busy  at  home. 
And  the  glasses?"  she  asked,  buttoning  her 
coat. 

The  old  man  still  rubbed  the  mirror  with  a  bit 
of  chamois-skin,  looking  down  at  her  steadily, 
standing  between  her  and  the  door, 

"You  never  will  require  glasses.  I  wish  to 
say — Sarah,  there  is  something  that  J  must  tell 
you." 

"Yes."     She  waited,  attentive,  smiling. 

"  There  is  a  peculiar  fact  about  the  eye..  You 
may  have  heard  of  it.  There  is  a  gray  curtain—- 
I  may  call  it  that — at  the  back  of  the  eye,  and  on 

it,    when  I   turn  a    strong  light Sit  down, 

Sarah.     You  do  not  seem  strong  to-day." 

"I  am  not  as  young  as  when  we  went  to 
school  on  the  hill  together,"  she  said,  laugh 
ing.  "  I  do  feel  my  age  a  little  this  year.  You 
were  saying  ? " 

Why  did  he  prose  so  ?  She  would  have  time 
to  buy  the  nainsook,  if  she  could  go  at  once, 

"It  is  like  a  gray  canvas.  On  it,  as  I 
said" — he  turned  his  eyes  away  from  her,  but 
went  on  hurriedly — "  on  it  an  oculist  can  see  the 


iS 


marks  made  by  certain  incurable  diseases  before 
any  other  part  of  the  body  betrays  their  pres 
ence.  It  is  the  writing  on  the  wall.  Death " 

She  had  taken  the  seat  he  gave  her.  She  rose 
now  mechanically,  and  stood  looking  into  his 
eyes.  He  stopped  speaking,  but  it  seemed  to 
her,  after  a  moment,  that  he  had  been  talking 
a  long  time  and  had  said  much. 

She  said  at  last:  "What  did  you  see?  What 
is  the  disease  ?  " 

He  answered  her,  briefly. 

Turning  his  back  on  her,  he  began  to  arrange 
some  empty  vials  on  a  shelf.  Her  eyes  followed 
him.  How  clean  his  bottles  were — quite  shin 
ing!  She  must  go  now.  The  nainsook — the 
train 

Her  jaws  moved  beyond  her  control. 

Death! 

"Are  you  going,  Sarah?"  He  walked  with 
her  to  the  door.  "  Will  you  have  a  little  wine  ? 
Water  ? " 

"No,  thank  you."  She  had  her  hand  on  the 
knob  of  the  door.  She  hesitated  a  moment  and 
then  turned: 

"Can  any  thing  be  done?  Is  there  any 
chance  ? " 

"Consult  your  physician  at  once,  of  course. 
But  I  did  not  diagnose  the  case  hastily.  It  is 

kindest  to  be  frank,  when  the  time  is  short 

What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  How  long  ?  " 

"  Not  more  than  a  month." 

She  bowed  and  smiled  civilly,  as  if  he  had  told 


19 

her  the  time  of  day,  and  opening  the  door 
passed  through  the  outer  office,  which  was  filled 
with  patients.  He  followed  her  to  the  hall. 

"  It  is  raining,"  he  said. 

"I  have  an  umbrella,  thank  you.  Good- 
morning." 

''Good-morning,  Mrs.  Warrick." 

As  she  went  down  the  steps  he  put  out  his 
hand  to  stop  her,  but  checked  himself,  looked 
after  her  with  an  approving  nod,  and  went  in. 

It  was  only  a  spring  shower.  The  buds  on  the 
maple-trees  shone  redly  in  it.  "They  will  be 
out  early  in  May  this  year,"  she  thought,  and 
then  stopped  short. 

"Why,  I  shall  not  see  them  !  "  she  said. 

Some  woman  whom  she  knew  passed  at  the 
moment.  Sarah  smiled  and  nodded,  but  looked 
after  her.  "She  will  be  here.  She  can  see  the 
children  and  talk  to  Samuel,  and  I " 

Then  a  sudden  frenzy  came  upon  her  to  be  at 
home,  to  see  her  husband.  The  minutes  were 
flying,  and  there  were  so  few!  She  had  work  for 
their  whole  lives  to  do,  and  no  time  was  left  to 
her — no  time. 

But  at  the  end  of  a  block  she  turned  and  went 
into  a  shop.  As  she  made  her  purchase  she  saw 
that  they  were  closing  the  windows  of  the  house. 
The  saleswomen  were  whispering  anxiously 
together.  Coming  into  the  street,  she  saw  work 
men  busy  everywhere  removing  the  flags  and 
decorations  from  the  houses.  Black  streamers 
hung  from  many  windows  ;  groups  of  excited 
men  stood  talking  on  the  street  ;  some  of  them 


20 


wore  crape  on  their  arms,  and  they  spoke  low  as 
if  in  the  presence  of  the  dead. 

She  stopped,  bewildered.  Had  they  heard — 
that  it  was  only  a  month  ? 

"What  has  happened  ?"  she  asked  some  one 
hurrying  by. 

"Lincoln  was  murdered  last  night!"  the 
woman  said.  "Why,  where  have  you  been  not 
to  know  it  ?" 

"Is  that  all?"  said  Sarah. 

She  walked  on  up  the  street.  It  was  all  so 
natural  and  familiar — the  sun  shining  on  the 
muddy  spattered  sidewalks,  the  bells  on  the 
horse-cars  jingling.  There  was  a  policeman 
whom  she  knew:  this  shop  was  where  she  always 
bought  candy  for  Anne. 

There  was  no  awful  presence  near  her.  No 
death,  nor  God.  Nothing  but  the  gay  shops 
and  the  car  horses  with  their  bells. 

Sarah  had,  as  we  know,  a  worried  sense  of  the 
inferiority  of  her  own  small  mind.  She  felt,  with 
a  kind  of  humiliation  now,  that  she  could  not 
force  herself  up  to  the  supreme  moment 

"  I  wonder,"  she  thought,  "  if  I  shall  go  before 
Him  thinking  of  candy  and  policemen  ? " 

She  went  to  her  physician's  office  for  an 
hour,  then  to  a  telegraph  station,  and  then 
home. 

The  car  was  filled  with  her  neighbors.  They 
greeted  her  cordially,  but  they  were  still  excited 
with  the  horror  of  the  assassination. 

Mrs.  Warrick  sat  silent,  listening,  on  a  back 
seat.  She  said  to  herself,  "The  whole  world  is 


21 


shaken  because  Lincoln  is  dead.  Nobody  thinks 
of  me.  Yet  I  have  lived  my  life  in  the  world 
too.  I  have  lived  my  life  in  the  world  too." 

She  tried  to  quiet  herself,  to  think  rationally. 
How  would  the  Warricks  meet  death  ?  She  had 
always  looked  up  to  her  husband's  family  as  of 
finer  clay  than  herself.  But  they  did  not  seem 
real  at  all  to  her  now.  Their  very  name  was  an 
empty  sound. 

She  tried  to  think  of  Jane  Dacre  and  the  flames, 
but  she  could  not  remember  now  why  it  was  that 
Jane  died.  She  could  not  remember  what  the 
Protestant  creed  was. 

As  she  left  the  car,  her  neighbors  nodded  good- 
by,  laughing.  Would  they  care  when  they  knew  ? 
There  was  old  Peter,  waiting  to  carry  her  bag. 
She  had  always  tried  to  be  kind  to  the  poor 
black  soul.  Would  he  remember  her  ?  Would 
any  body  remember  her  ? 

The  storm  which  had  been  threatening  all 
day  had  sunk  lower,  a  gray  darkness  thickened 
the  air;  suddenly,  fierce  gusts  bent  the  trees. 
They  made  the  stout  old  woman  stagger  as  she 
walked.  She  halted  under  the  oaks;  they  waved 
their  branches  wildly,  with  half  inarticulate 
cries  over  her  head.  She  saw  that  they  knew 
what  had  happened  to  her.  There  was  some 
comfort  in  that.  She  turned  into  the  old  gar 
den,  which  was  home  to  her  more  than  any  place 
on  earth.  The  rain  was  falling  now,  the  pale 
green  bushes  were  dripping;  the  crocuses  thrust 
their  wet  heads  through  the  soft  mould.  She 
dropped  upon  her  knees  in  it.  So  many  years 


22 


she  had  worked  with  them!  She  knew  every 
leaf  and  root  of  them. 

They  knew. 

She  pulled  up  a  weed  or  two  and  straightened 
the  roots  of  the  jonquils  with  affectionate  pats, 
her  eyes  growing  quiet.  She  had  been  treading 
on  shifting  seas,  but  now  she  felt  firm  ground 
again  under  her  feet. 

She  walked  toward  the  house.  "I'm  afraid  I 
haven't  much  grit  to  go  through  with  it,"  she 
said,  with  an  uneasy  laugh. 

The  girls  were  waiting  for  her  on  the  porch. 
She  sat  down  and  drew  them  to  her,  kissing 
them  again  and  again. 

1  'Have  you  heard  ?"  Milly  cried.  "Have  you 
heard,  mamma  ?  " 

"About  the  President  ?  Yes.  All  the  world's 
dying,  I  think.  Stay,  don't  go  away!  Don't 
leave  me." 

"  How  wet  you  are!  "  said  Milly.  "What's  in 
that  bundle  ? " 

"It  is  a  white  wrapper,"  Mrs.  Warrick  said, 
opening  it,  "with  embroidery.  I  thought  you 
and  Anne  would  like  to  remember — to  see  me  in 
it.  I  shall  wear  it  every  day.  I  am  sorry  I  ever 
wore  those  ugly  gowns." 

"And  papa  ?    When  did  you  tell  him  to  come? " 

Mrs.  Warrick  did  not  answer. 

"Did  you  telegraph  to  him?  When  did  you 
tell  him  to  come  ? " 

"I  told  him,"  she  said  slowly,  "to  stay  there 
until  his  regiment  was  mustered  out.  It  will  be — 
more  than  a  month." 


"Oh,  you  poor  little  mother!"  Anne  said. 
"You  wanted  him  so!  It  will  be  so  hard  for 
you  to  wait!  " 

"I "  She  gave  a  queer  laugh.  "Papa 

cannot  bear  a  fuss.  You  must  always  keep  him 
from  that.  I  will — wait." 

She  sat  with  her  arms  about  them,  looking  out 
into  the  rain. 

Wait  ?  For  what  ?  In  a  month  she  would  be 
gone — altogether  gone.  The  children  would 
grow  up  like  their  father.  They  were  of  his 
kind — a  different  kind  from  her.  She  had  some 
times  been  taken  for  their  nurse  in  the  train. 
There  was  a  certain  air  of  distinction  in  them 
which  she  never  could  get,  try  as  she  might. 
She  had  often  felt  as  if  she  were  down  on  a  low 
road  in  life,  and  these  girls,  the  children  of  her 
womb,  to  whom  she  had  given  her  own  flesh  and 
her  own  blood,  were  climbing  up  above  her. 
They  would  go  on  climbing,  now,  and  where 
would  she  be  ? 

Anne,  who  very  seldom  caressed  any  body,  saw 
just  then  her  mother's  troubled  face,  and  throw 
ing  her  arms  about  her  kissed  her. 

"Why — Anne!"  Mrs.  Warrick  held  her  back, 
looking  at  her.  Her  eyes  gathered  an  intelli 
gence  which  never  before  had  lighted  them. 
"You  won't  forget!  I  have  loved  you  so, 
children!"  she  said,  "no  matter  what  I  am. 
Nobody  will  ever  love  you  like  your  mother." 

She  walked  down  the  porch.  "  It's  love  that 
lasts!"  she  told  herself,  shivering  with  exulta 
tion.  "Oh,  I  see  now!  On  the  cross — for  love. 


24 


He  came  back  to  them  that  loved  him — He  came 
back " 

Brooke  at  that  moment  rushed  up  the  steps. 
"I  must  pull  down  these  greens!"  he  said. 
" Lincoln's  dead!  I  must  hang  out  black 
streamers.  Every-body  has  black  streamers 
out!" 

"No!  No  black  on  this  house!"  Mrs.  War- 
rick  cried.  "  I  will  have  no  black — no  mourning! 
When  people  die  they  do  not  go  away;  they  are 
not  forgotten!  God  is  good.  They  stay  to  help 
their  own.  They  stay  right  here!  " 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  was  the  week  after  the  funeral.  The  day 
was  chilly,  and  Dr.  Warrick  sat  in  front  of  the 
fire,  stretching  out  his  neat  little  legs  before  the 
glowing  coals. 

Sarah  had  not  been  allowed  to  creep  alone  out 
of  life  as  she  meant  to  do.  Brooke,  when  he 
knew  the  truth,  wrote  to  the  doctor,  who  came 
on  the  instant.  The  little  man,  beneath  his 
whims,  had  a  heart  stout  enough  to  face  this 
moment.  The  small  worries  which  dogged  him 
intolerably  every  day  of  his  life  did  not  follow 
him  up  to  this  great  and  solemn  height.  He  was 
there  alone  with  the  one  woman  whom  he  had 
ever  loved,  watching  her  go  from  him.  His  love 
was  deep  and  strong  enough  to  fit  him  for  even 
this. 

But  now  she  was  put  out  of  sight  yonder  in 
her  garden.  He  felt  that  he  must  brace  himself 
and  decide  at  once  where  to  go  and  what  to  do. 
Five  years  in  the  army  had  cut  him  completely 
loose  from  his  moorings.  He  tried  to  think,  but 
his  heart  was  sore.  He  took  out  a  bit  of  soft 
gray  hair,  the  tears  coming  to  his  eyes.  There 
was  a  certain  comfort  in  thus  lapping  himself  in 
gentle  misery.  But  as  for  his  practice,  or  the 
taxes  now  due,  or  these  two  great  girls  ? 

He  shuffled  irritably  in  his  chair.     There  was  a 


26 


feeling  which  did  not  form  itself  into  a  thought: 
that  Sarah  had  taken  a  most  inappropriate  time 
to  die;  that  it  was  inconsiderate  in  somebody  to 
dump  this  load  of  cares  upon  him  just  as  he  was 
looking  forward  to  the  welcome  and  leisure  of 
home.  She,  thank  God,  had  entered  into  an 
eternal  welcome  and  leisure !  She  did  not  choose 
her  time  to  go,  of  course,  poor  girl!  Then,  with 
the  tears  rising  again  to  his  eyes,  he  lost  himself 
in  dreaming  of  her  happiness  yonder.  The  doc 
tor's  ideas  of  a  future  life  were  not  very  lofty, 
perhaps.  But  Sarah,  he  felt,  had  been  a  good 
woman,  and  he  had  a  vague  conviction  that  any 
one  connected  even  but  by  marriage  with  the 
Warrick  family  would  be  especially  cared  for 
there  beyond.  To  set  a  family  apart  from  others, 
for  generations,  with  special  excellencies  on 
earth,  and  then  treat  them  like  the  mass  after 
ward  would  hardly  be  just. 

While  the  doctor  sat  before  the  fire  his  two 
cousins,  Mrs.  Dane  and  Mr.  Franciscus  (War- 
ricks  by  the  female  line),  were  walking  up  and 
down  the  porch  outside.  They  had  come  out 
from  Luxborough  before  Sarah's  death  to  help 
him  in  his  sore  strait,  but  now  were  impatient 
to  set  him  on  his  way  and  go  home. 

The  lady  was  a  small,  alert  woman  of  forty. 
She  walked  quickly,  spoke  quickly,  glancing 
from  side  to  side  with  keen  but  kind  eyes.  In 
deed,  Julia  Dane  was  a  friendly,  helpful  soul,  too 
well  bred  ever  to  assert  herself  loudly.  Yet 
something,  from  the  creak  of  her  shining  little 
boots  to  the  coils  of  iron-gray  hair  high  upon  her 


erect  head,  told  you  that  she  was  an  authority  in 
the  parish,  in  literary  clubs,  and  in  a  dozen  benev 
olent  committees. 

Mr.  Franciscus,  lingering  lazily  a  step  behind 
her,  was  a  tall,  spare  man,  who  stooped  defer 
entially  to  his  companion,  talking  incessantly 
in  a  low  monotone.  Why  the  gentle  "Miss 
Fanny,"  as  the  young  people  dubbed  him,  should 
have  been  a  ruler  of  fashion  in  Luxborough 
through  two  generations  nobody  knew.  There 
was  an  intangible  cachet  of  old-time  elegance  in 
his  dress  and  bearing,  so  unobtrusive  that  each 
observer  believed  that  he  alone  had  detected  it 
and  felt  the  pleasure  of  discovery  in  it. 

"  Really,"  he  said,  waving  his  thin  white 
hand  to  the  window,  "Samuel  is  not  ten  years 
old  !  They  are  three  children  together."  He 
paused  a  moment  and  continued  gloomily:  "I 
find  that  there  is  but  a  trifle  of  the  property  left. 
Samuel  has  had  a  positive  genius  for  waste!  But 
he  is  fairly  skilful  as  a  physician;  he  might  resume 
his  practice  here." 

"Oh,  the  man  is  well  enough  as  a  tool,"  said 
Mrs.  Dane,  "but  there  must  be  a  hand  to  push 
the  tool.  In  the  army  he  was  under  orders. 
Before  that,  Sarah,  dull  as  she  was,  was  the 
motive  power.  But  now — that  poor  little 
thing!  "  nodding  to  Milly,  who  sat  crouched  upon 
the  steps.  Her  face  was  pinched  and  her  eyes 
dulled  with  crying.  Mr.  Franciscus  gave  an 
inarticulate  cluck  of  pity. 

"That  child  is  making  herself  ill  with  grief; 
but  the  other  girl  has  not  shed  a  tear,  to  my 


28 


knowledge.  We  shall  find  her  difficult,  Julia. 
We  must  look  the  thing  in  the  face.  In  a  very 
few  years,  you  and  I  will  be  responsible  socially 
for  these  children.  That  younger  one  is  im 
possible." 

"  Poor  little  Anne!"  laughed  Mrs.  Dane 
good-humoredly;  "  what  has  she  done  ?  " 

"I'll  tell  you  what  she  did  to-day.  I've  had 
my  eye  on  her,"  with  a  shudder.  "It  appears 
these  people  in  the  village  made  an  idol  of 
poor  Sarah;  why,  God  only  knows!"  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  "This  morning  Anne  gathered 
them  all,  hucksters,  washerwomen,  and  gentry 
from  the  neighboring  kitchens,  and  going  through 
the  house  in  a  sort  of  dumb  frenzy  she  collected 
all  of  her  mother's  belongings  and  divided  them 
among  them.  The  cook  got  Sarah's  one  satin 
gown;  the  milkman  her  A  Kempis — a  Picker 
ing!  I  protested  gently,  and  she  cried,  'What 
are  old  gowns  and  books  ?  If  they  can  make 
her  alive  a  little  longer  to  the  people  who  loved 
her,  shall  I  keep  them  ? '  Well,  there  was  a  cer 
tain  truth  in  that,  but — I  foresee  a  radical  in  that 
girl." 

Mrs.  Dane's  boot-heels  clicked  -more  firmly  as 
she  walked.  "I'll  take  the  radicalism  out  of 
her,"  she  said  quietly. 

Milly  meanwhile  had  a  very  clear  idea  of  their 
meaning.  Why  should  they  interfere  ?  She  and 
Anne  could  easily  carry  out  mamma's  wishes. 
They  would  always  live  here,  taking  care  of  dear 
papa.  They  would  talk  and  act  just  as  their 
Warrick  blood  required.  They  would  be  good 


Christians.  She  had  some  hazy  ideas  of  an 
embroidered  altar-cloth  and  new  covers  for  the 
Sunday-school  books,  and  advice  to  her  wicked 
inferiors.  And  so  it  would  go  on  and  on.  And 
some  day  when  they  were  quite  old  and  gray, 
the  pearly  gates  would  open,  and  they  would  all 
be  together  again.  Life  seemed  simple  enough 
to  the  little  girl  in  whose  pure  soul  her  mother 
was  really,  as  yet,  the  only  God  or  law-giver. 

Mrs.  Dane  suddenly  stopped.  "We  will  go  at 
once  and  talk  the  matter  over  with  Samuel.  He 
must  wake  up  to  real  life,"  she  said  decisively. 
"Come,  Mildred,  you  must  be  your  father's 
helper  now." 

"  Yes,  Cousin  Julia.  I  mean  to  do  exactly  as 
mamma  did." 

"Oh?  Your  mamma "  She  interrupted 

herself  with  a  cough,  "Come.  I  shall  expect 
much  discretion  from  you,  my  dear." 

It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that  any  body 
had  expected  any  exercise  of  brain  from  Mildred. 
A  curious  flash  lighted  her  blue  unmeaning  eyes. 

"Shall  we  call  her  sister,  Paul?"  said  Mrs. 
Dane. 

"No,  Cousin  Julia,"  said  Milly  quickly.  "I 
can  manage.  Never  mind  Anne." 

Mr.  Franciscus's  prologue  to  her  father  was 
ponderous  and  lengthy.  Mildred  understood 
but  little  of  it. 

"You  are  most  kind,  Paul,  most  kind!  and  so 
is  Julia,"  said  the  doctor,  waving  his  nervous 
fingers,  as  if  to  scatter  their  arguments  into  air. 
"  I  mean  to  take  care  of  the  children,  of  course. 


I  had  intended  to  give  up  my  time  to  original 
research,  in  the  direction  of  germ  disease.  But 

now,  with   two    schoolgirls   to I'm    sure   I 

don't  know  any  thing  about  bonnets  and  calicoes. 

It  was  the  most  inconvenient  time  for But 

I  blame  nobody !  God,  He  knows  what  He  wants 
done.  I  shall  give  my  life  to  my  poor  chil 
dren,"  drawing  Milly  toward  him  and  resting 
her  head  on  his  shoulder,  with  a  miserable  sob. 

"He  will  help  you,  Samuel!  I  know  He 
will!"  said  Mrs.  Dane,  the  tears  in  her  own  eyes. 
"But  there  are  details  to  consider.  Paul  and 
I  are  ready  to  do  what  we  can  to  aid  you  in 
directing  the  girls'  future.  I  can  advise  you  as 
to  schools,  and  Paul  is  really,  as  you  know,  a 
social  power.  He  can  aid  us  enormously  with 
them  when  they  enter  the  world;  and  also  in — in 
the  promotion  of  suitable  marriages.  One  may 
as  well  speak  frankly.  We  must  face  the  whole 
matter  now.  Women  are  born  to  be  wives,  and 
it  is  our  duty  to  place  our  girls  advantageously. 
You  must  perceive,  Samuel,  that  their  future, 
the  kind  of  education  which  they  receive,  their 
place  in  society,  and,  some  day,  their  marriages, 
all  will  depend  upon  one  consideration." 

"I  suppose  you  mean  the  will  of  God,"  said  the 
doctor,  vaguely  remembering  that  cousin  Julia 
was  aggressively  devout  in  the  way  of  tracts  and 
church-going. 

Mrs.  Dane  hesitated.  Milly's  little  white  face 
was  turned  toward  her,  eager  for  her  reply. 
Her  mother  had  never  bared  her  life  to  her  in 
this  naked  fashion.  WThat  was  this  which  was 


needed   to   help     her   through   all    that   was   to 
come  ? 

"We  all  bow  to  che  will  of  God,"  said  Mrs. 
Dane  severely.  "We  are  not  pagans,  I  trust. 
But  in  this  case — you  surely  must  see,  Samuel, 
that  the  future  lives  of  your  daughters  will 
largely  depend  on  your  income  ?  On  the  amount 
of  money  which  you  can  expend;  and  the  style 
in  which  they  live  ?" 

"Money?"  said  Milly,  under  her  breath, 
"money  ?" 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Franciscus  testily. 
"  Money.  That,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  is  now  the 
dominant  power  in  America.  Great  fortunes 
have  been  made  during  the  war.  Vulgar  con 
tractors  are  pushing  in  everywhere,  even  in 
Luxborough." 

"You  give  the  child  a  low  view  of  life,  Paul," 
said  the  doctor  hotly. 

"You  must  look  at  society  as  it  is,"  said  Mrs. 
Dane  calmly.  "Myself — I  take  a  philosophic 
estimate  of  it.  One  thing  I  will  say.  Dear 
Sarah  brought  up  the  children  in  this  solitude 
with  very  peculiar  ideas.  They  were  to  make 
their  way  through  the  world  by  virtue  of  good 
blood  and  the  example  of  some  martyr  ancestor. 
Now,  Samuel,  these  notions  are  of  no  more  use 
in  every-day  life  in  Luxborough  than — than  the 
spear  of  the  archangel  Michael  would  be  to  keep 
off  the  rain.  It  is  an  umbrella  you  want  in  a 
storm,  and  it  is  money  a  woman  wants  to  make 
her  comfortable.  I  speak  plainly.  I  always  do 
in  a  crisis.  Now  listen  to  me.  If  there  is  no 


probability  that  these  girls  will  inherit  a  fortune, 
we  must  give  them  a  plain  education.  We  will 
not  introduce  them  into  fashionable  life  at  all. 
Nothing  is  so  tragic  as  a  poor  girl  trying  to  push 
her  way  in  it,  in  her  cheap  silks  and  Rhine 
stones.  If  I  have  a  claim  to  any  virtue  it  is  com 
mon-sense,  and  I  bring  it  to  bear  now.  Paul 
here  would  be  for  giving  them,  when  they  come 
out,  a  season  at  Newport  or  a  winter  in  Phila 
delphia.  But  no.  It  would  only  make  them  dis 
contented.  We  will  prepare  them  for  a  career 
of  comfort — not  luxury.  But — but  if  there  is  a 
chance,  even  the  barest  chance,  of  their  being 
heiresses,  we  will  strain  every  nerve  to  fit  them 
for  a  brilliant  position." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?  How  in 
Heaven's  name  should  my  children  be  heiresses  ? 
My  practice  may  return,  but " 

Cousin  Julia  lowered  her  voice,  glancing  around 
cautiously.  "You  forget  your  cousin  Eliza 
Joyce.  There  is  no  reason  why  you  or  your  girls 
should  not  be  her  heirs." 

"Bah!"  The  doctor  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
paced  up  and  down.  "Do  you  mean  that  I  am 
to  spend  my  life  toadying  to  the  whims  of  a 
cantankerous  old  woman,  in  hopes  that  she  may 
fling  me  her  shoes  when  she  is  dead  ?  I  am  poor, 
but  I  have  not  sunk  so  low  as  that!  No,  Julia! " 

"No  old  shoes,"  said  Mr.  Franciscus,  laughing, 
"but  a  very  snug  fortune.  I  wish  I  had  your 
chance,  Warrick." 

"  Why  don't  you  try  for  it  then  ? " 

"Who?     Me?"  said  the  old  beau  indifferently. 


33 


"I  am  out  of  the  running.  So  is  Julia.  She 
will  leave  it  only  to  a  Warrick  by  name.  You 
have  a  fine  chance,  if  you  are  decently  civil,  or 
allow  the  girls  to  be  so.  But  just  as  you  please  " 
— concealing  a  yawn. 

"I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind  as  to  that 
point!"  said  the  doctor  doggedly,  resuming  his 
seat.  "  What  next?" 

"This  is  too  important  a  matter  to  decide 
in  a  moment,"  said  Mrs.  Dane  gently.  "I  only 
wished  to  suggest  it.  The  fortune  is  a  large  one. 
It  would  give  solidity  and  brilliancy  to  the 
children's  lives.  It  is  there,  waiting  for  you  to 
pick  it  up.  But  we  will  not  discuss  it  now. 
Paul  and  I  must  go  home  this  evening.  We  will 
come  back  in  a  few  weeks,  dear  cousin,  to  talk 
it  all  over  when  you  are  settled  and  your  heart 
is  not  so  sore.  That  will  be  time  enough  for 
business." 

After  Mr.  Franciscus  was  settled  comfortably 
in  the  carriage  beside  Mrs.  Dane  that  afternoon, 
he  abandoned  himself  to  reflection. 

"They  are  an  impracticable  lot!"  he  said, 
rousing  himself  at  last.  "1  like  to  help  my  kin 

to    the    farthest  generation,  but Now  that 

girl  Mildred  is  the  most  hopeful  of  the  three.  A 
dowerless  woman  with  as  marked  beauty  as  hers 
sometimes  marries  very  well  indeed.  Her  tints 
are  exquisite,  and  that  dove-like  softness  of  voice 
and  manner  is  very  alluring.  But  I'm  afraid 
she  inclines  to  embonpoint.  There  is  a  thickness 
in  her  lips  and  eyelids  which  suggests  absolute 
fat  at  thirty.  She  should  eliminate  from  her  diet 
3 


34 

for  a  year  or  two  all  oils  and  sugars  and  starchy 
food.  I  wish  you  would  see  to  that,  Julia.  She 
is  your  godchild.  I  want  to  do  the  best  I  can 
for  the  child.  She  has  no  mother." 

Mildred  just  then  was  sitting  in  the  wet  grass 
beside  her  mother's  grave.  Her  tears  had  never 
been  so  bitter  as  now.  Anne  found  her  there 
and  stood  beside  her,  stroking  her  head  softly, 
at  which  Milly  sobbed  more  loudly. 

"  I  wish  I  could  cry  too,"  said  the  little  girl. 
"I'm  glad  she  is  here,  so  near!"  cried  Milly 
passionately.      "I  can  come  to  her  every  night, 
to  be  sure  that  I  have  done  just  as  she  wished 
me  to  do! " 

An  hour  later,  as  the  girls  walked  home 
through  the  gathering  twilight,  Mildred  stopped 
in  the  orchard. 

"You  can  see  the  windows  of  the  Joyce  House 
from  here,  dear,"  she  said.  "  Did  you  know  that 
Mrs.  Joyce  is  our  own  cousin  ?  We  ought  to  go 
to  see  her." 

"She  is  a  wicked  old  woman!  She  is  no 
cousin  of  mine,"  cried  Anne.  "Brooke  told 
me.  She  has  all  kinds  of  disreputable  people  at 
her  dinners.  She  is  a  gambler— she  jeers  at  the 
Bible.  Mamma  was  afraid  of  her." 

"Yes,    I     know,"     said     Milly     thoughtfully. 

"  Mamma "     Presently  she  said,  "  The  world 

is  so  big!  And  there  are  things  in  it,"  she  added, 
with  a  little  air  of  authority,  "which  perhaps 
even  mamma  did  not  know.  I  think  we  should 
be  kind  to  poor  Mrs.  Joyce,  Anne." 


CHAPTER  III 

WE  all  know  that  Pennsylvania  and  her  children 
grow  old  slowly;  they  seem  to  linger  always  in 
the  calm  of  satisfied,  mellow  middle  age. 

Luxborough,  for  example,  after  eight  years 
had  passed,  had  not  changed  a  whit;  it  had  not  as 
yet  even  suspected  that  any  change  could  better 
it.  It  listened  with  silent,  well-bred  contempt 
to  reports  of  the  transient  enthusiasms  of  Boston, 
the  huge  fortunes  of  New  York,  and  the  crude 
splendors  of  new-born  Western  towns.  Lux- 
borough  had  no  need  to  pant  or  swagger,  to 
clutch  at  money,  or  to  grope  after  Christian 
Science  or  Buddha.  The  good  folk  still  waged 
war  on  each  other  from  the  High  and  Low 
churches ;  the  same  Bourbon  rose-bushes  reddened 
the  dusky  alleys  of  their  gardens.  They  pickled 
and  preserved  by  the  same  recipes,  and  still 
danced  the  minuet  once  a  year  in  the  ancient 
brocade  gowns  of  their  grandmothers. 

It  was  the  identical  grimy  train  which  went 
lumbering  up  from  Philadelphia  through  the 
deep  gorges  and  perilous  beauty  of  the  Gap  to 
Luxborough  one  wintry  afternoon,  and  the  same 
Dutch  conductor,  his  jaws  redder  and  his  hair 
whiter,  who  called  the  stations  as  he  had  done 
for  twenty  years. 

A  young  girl  spoke  to  him  in  a  low  tone.     The 


old  man  shuffled  from  foot  to  foot,  looking  back 
at  her,  as  he  turned  away,  with  pleased  admira 
tion. 

Mrs.  Dane,  who  sat  beside  her,  said  gently,  "  I 
have  travelled  with  that  man  half  of  my  life  and 
I  never  have  spoken  to  him." 

"How  droll!"  said  Anne.  "I  know  Fritz 
well,  though  I  have  not  seen  him  for  five  years. 
I  wanted  to  hear  about  his  wife  and  his  boy  Jake. 
Mamma  knew  them  all." 

"Your  mamma,"  said  Mrs.  Dane,  hesitating> 
"cluttered  up  her  life  with  common  people. 
She  knew  all  about  the  diseases  and  debts  of  her 
cook  and  butcher.  I  pay  them  their  money; 
that  ends  our  relations.  I  give  charity  through 
organized  associations.  When  you  have  studied 
social  economics  as  thoroughly  as  I  have,  I  think 
you  will  find  that  to  be  the  easiest  way  of  dealing 
with  that  class,  my  dear,  and  the  safest." 

"  Undoubtedly  it  is  easy  and  safe,"  said  Anne, 
turning  her  bright  eyes  full  on  her  for  a  moment. 
Mrs.  Dane  bridled  with  annoyance.  What  was 
she  laughing  at  ?  She  was  always  laughing! 

Judge  and  Mrs.  Hayes  were  in  the  seat  behind 
her.  She  knew  that  they  were  eying  Anne  curi 
ously.  Presently  Mrs.  Hayes  leaned  forward, 
the  beady  fringes  on  her  broad  bosom  rattling. 

1 '  Who  is  that  ?  "  she  whispered.  <  <  What  a  dis~ 
tinguished-looking  girl!  " 

"It  is  the  younger  Miss  Warrick.  She  has 
been  five  years  at  school.  Near  Boston.  With 
Mme.  Dupont.  Best  class  of  girls  in  the 
country.  So  exclusive!  Really,  you  have  to 


37 


enter  a  pupil's  name  while  she  is  in  her  cradle  to 
get  her  in.  I  have  just  been  up  to  bring  Anne 
home." 

4 'Very  odd,  attractive  face,  eh?"  said  the 
judge. 

"Oh,  no!  candidly,  Anne  is  very  ugly,"  said 
Mrs.  Dane.  "But  she  surprises  me  every  day. 
She  will  puzzle  Luxborough,"  she  added,  with  a 
complacent  smile.  "She  will  be  something  quite 
new  in  the  way  of  a  young  woman." 

"Ah,  really!  "  said  Mrs.  Hayes  dryly. 

The  younger  Hayes  girls  were  not  yet  settled. 
Mrs.  Hayes  scanned  this  new  debutante  with 
jealous  eyes.  There  were  quite  enough  mar 
riageable  young  women  in  the  town  already,  she 
reflected. 

Why  could  not  Jenny  and  Matty  bear  them 
selves  with  that  repose  ?  The  girls  trained  by 
Mine.  Dupont  did  acquire  an  air  ! 

She  turned  to  look  at  the  woods  flying  past,  the 
pompons  of  her  hat  nodding  gloomily. 

"  Why,  Aunty  Conn  !  I'm  afraid  you  don't 
know  me !"  said  a  voice  beside  her.  "  I  used 
to  call  you  Aunty  Conn.  Don't  you  remember 
Nancy,  and  the  day  I  broke  through  the  glass  of 
your  hot -house  climbing  over  it,  and  how  you 
bandaged  up  my  leg  and  gave  me  root-beer  ?" 

Mrs.  Dane,  looking  back,  saw  the  Hayeses  on 
their  feet,  shaking  hands  and  laughing  with  the 
girl.  Cornelia  Hayes's  broad  face  was  beaming 
with  hearty  pleasure.  They  left  the  train  at  the 
next  station,  tearing  themselves  away  from  Anne 
with  difficulty. 


"I'll  bring  Jenny  and  Matty  up  to-morrow!" 
the  judge  called  from  the  platform. 

"And  remember,  my  dear,  dinner  on  Thurs 
day,  and  you  shall  have  root-beer,"  said  his 
wife. 

Mrs.  Dane  listened,  amazed.  "I  wonder  how 
she  did  it  ?  "  she  thought,  looking  at  Anne,  per 
plexed.  She  could  not  quite  master  this  school 
girl. 

Mrs.  Dane  had  been  faithful  in  her  duty  to  the 
Warrick  family.  She  had  piloted  Mildred  into 
both  factions  of  Luxborough  society.  A  brilliant 
match  was  always  possible  to  a  girl  of  such 
singular  beauty.  Anne  had  been  an  ugly,  high- 
tempered  child.  Mrs.  Dane  had  decided  to  hand 
her  over  to  Mme.  Dnpont,  who  was  said  to  turn  out 
"superior"  young  women.  An  intelligent  girl, 
possessed  of  a  certain  amount  of  Latin,  literature, 
and  executive  ability  in  church-work,  she  was 
sure  would  take  in  old  Luxborough  circles  and 
soon  marry  a  professor  or  one  of  the  assistant 
clergy. 

Such  were  her  plans.  But  would  Anne  fulfil 
them  ?  She  had  tried  in  vain  yesterday  to  obtain 
some  estimate  of  the  girl  from  Mme.  Dupont,  but 
that  lady  (certainly  a  most  eccentric  person)  had 
not  the  faintest  ideas  of  the  duties  of  a  teacher. 
Mrs.  Dane  stood  with  her  on  a  balcony,  watehing 
Anne  in  the  garden  below,  as  she  bade  good-by 
to  the  girls  and  a  half  dozen  dogs. 

"You  can  speak  freely  to  me  of  my  niece," 
said  Mrs.  Dane  affably,  to  the  little  woman  in 
black.  "If  I  have  any  ability,  it  is  a  thorough 


comprehension  of  young  people — a  sympathy. 
What  is  she  ?  What  does  she  know  ?  " 

"  Know  ?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Dupont.  She  nodded 
and  smiled  affectionately  as  she  met  Anne's  eye. 
"Nothing,  accurately.  But  she  will  learn  more 
than  most  women  as  life  goes  on." 

"I  must  understand  her.  I  must  plan  her 
future." 

"  She  will  do  that  for  herself,"  said  the  teacher 
quickly. 

"lam  quite  satisfied,"  said  Mrs.  Dane,  with 
official  gravity,  "with  her  manner.  The  voice 
is  low  and  clear  and  the  carriage  noble." 

"Oh,  these  are  mere  habits,"  said  the  other 
woman  carelessly.  "I  am  sorry,"  she  added, 
observing  Mrs.  Dane's  impatience,  "that  I  can 
not  schedule  her  character  for  you.  You  see  ?  " 
motioning  to  the  crowd  below.  "Whatever  else 
she  may  lack,  she  will  have  friends.  That  capital 
she  is  sure  of.  And  there  are  other  things — 
Anne  gets  more  out  of  life  than  we  do.  The 
world  is  fuller  for  her.  You  understand  me  ? 
I  have  heard  of  certain  people,"  she  said,  smiling, 
"who  are  born  without  the  outer  cuticle.  The 
sun  is  hotter  to  them  than  to  us,  and  the  wind 
colder.  They  know  sights  and  smells  and  the 
calls  of  insects  which  are  nothing  to  us.  Anne 
is  like  them." 

"  Really  ?"  said  Mrs.  Dane  anxiously. 

"She  comes  closer  to  things.  At  her  age, 
naturally,  she  sees  the  gay  side  first — the  fun. 
But  after  a  while — I  hope  her  life  will  not  be  a 
hard  one" — she  broke  off  abruptly 


"  Her  father  is  not  a  rich  man." 

"That  will  have  something  to  do  with  it. 
Not  much,"  said  Mme.  Dupont.  "Shall  we  go 
down  ? " 

Hence  Mrs.  Dane,  when  she  left  the  school, 
was  greatly  bewildered.  She  inspected  Anne's 
skin  keenly.  It  was  all  right.  Or  had  the 
woman  only  been  talking  in  allegories  ?  Mrs. 
Dane  hated  that  hyperbolic  way  of  putting 
things!  It  was  so — Bostonian;  which  was  the 
term  Luxboroughans  used  for  any  thing  which 
they  did  not  quite  understand. 

As  they  came  near  Luxborough,  she  feared 
that  Anne's  welcome  would  not  be  warm  enough. 
She  saw  that  this  home-coming  was  a  thing  of 
tremendous  import  to  her.  She  had  been  think 
ing  of  it  for  years.  Mrs.  Dane  kept  an  eager 
watch  ahead.  Very  likely  the  doctor  would  for 
get  the  time  when  the  train  was  due;  it  would 
be  just  like  him !  Mr.  Franciscus  had  boarded  the 
car  at  the  lower  station;  one  could  always  trust 
Paul  to  do  the  right  and  courteous  thing. 

Anne,  however,  had  a  welcome  of  which  Mrs. 
Dane  knew  nothing.  The  old  fields  were  look 
ing  at  her.  She  knew  every  foot  of  them,  and 
they  knew  her.  There  was  her  own  hedge,  which 
the  king-birds"  liked  best.  The  snow  lay  thick  at 
the  roots  of  the  bushes,  but  the  leaves  of  some 
red  creepers  which  had  outlasted  the  winter 
fluttered  atop.  "They  knew  I  was  coming  and 
waited,"  Anne  thought.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if 
she  and  every  thing  about  her  were  shouting 
for  joy. 


They  skirted  the  edge  of  the  town  with  rapid 
glimpses  of  the  narrow,  empty  streets,  running 
up  the  hill  between  lines  of  great  Lombardy 
poplars,  and  near  the  way-side  station  at  The 
Oaks.  There  was  the  orchard;  the  chimneys  of 
the  house  rose  behind  the  hill,  and  now  she  could 
see  old  Peter  waiting  by  the  hedge,  and  Bruce 
beside  him,  and 

"  There  is  papa!  "  she  said  quietly,  as  the  train 
stopped.  But  she  trembled  so  that  she  did  not 
speak  to  him  at  all  when  she  came  to  him. 

"God  bless  me!  And  here  you  are,  my  dear! 
And  you're  glad  to  get  home  to  old  Daddy  ? 
Tut— tut!  Why— Anne  ?  " 

He  had  been  mildly  glad  that  she  was  coming 
home.  But — nobody  before  had  ever  cried  with 
joy  to  see  him.  His  thin  blood  throbbed  in  his 
veins. 

"Run  along  home  together,"  said  Mr.  Fran- 
ciscus,  with  a  little  quaver  in  his  laugh.  "I'll 
send  the  luggage  up.  Samuel,  go  along  with 
your  girl." 

As  he  strolled  homeward  presently  with  Mrs. 
Dane,  he  whistled  inaudibly  to  himself,  a  sure 
sign  that  he  was  greatly  pleased. 

"She  is  quite  satisfactory,  Paul?"  she  asked. 
"I  should  call  her  figure  perfect,  and  she  knows 
what  to  wear.  That  brown  gown  and  hat,  with 
the  fleck  of  red  here  and  there " 

"It  is  not  her  clothes.  Nor  her  looks.  But 
something  in  the  girl  herself,  indescribable,"  he 
said,  with  energy.  "It  wasn't  easy  to  spare  the 
money  for  her  education,  but  I  am  glad  we  did 


it.  She  does  not  suspect  that  we  had  a  hand  in 
it,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  No  one  but  Mildred  knows.  She  is  reason 
able.  Samuel  would  resent  the  obligation.  But 
he  gives  Milly  the  purse  to  carry  and  asks  no 
questions." 

"It  is  no  obligation,"  he  said  hastily.  "I  do 
not  wish  Anne  ever  to  know.  I  am  glad  that  we 
did  it!" 

Anne,  going  up  the  hill  with  her  father,  halted 
suddenly.  "Where  is  Milly,  papa?  I  always 
thought  she  would  meet  me  here,  at  the  oaks." 

"Oh,  don't  you  krtow,  my  dear  ?"  stammered 
the  doctor.  "  She  is  gone  to  New  York  for  a 
month.  Mrs.  Joyce  wished  to  consult  a  special 
ist,  and  Milly  felt  that  she  ought  to  go  with  her. 
The  poor  old  woman  is  quite  dependent  on  your 
sister  now.  Mildred  left  her  love  for  you." 

Anne  did  not  speak  for  a  minute. 

"It  must  have  been  harder  for  her  than  it  is 
forme,"  she  burst  out  loudly.  "She  will  have 
nobody  there,  and  she  knew  that  I  would  havej>w/." 

"Yes,  yes!"  the  doctor  held  her  arm  tightly. 
His  heart  fluttered  as  it  had  not  done  for  many  a 
year.  How  the  child  loved  him!  He  had  so 
much  to  tell  her.  He  was  sure  that  she  would 
understand.  She  would  see  things  as  he  did. 
Dear  Mildred  could  not  come  back  unexpectedly. 
And  they  could  do  as  they  pleased  for  a  whole 
month! 

He  gave  her  another  hug  when  they  were 
inside  of  the  door,  and  ran  bustling  about,  hum 
ming  a  tune. 


43 


"Make  up  a  rousing  fire,"  he  shouted.  "Let 
us  be  warm  for  once.  Maria,  come  and  show 
yourself  to  Miss  Anne.  About  dinner,  now?" 
adding  some  whispered  orders,  which  sent  Maria 
amazed  and  chuckling  back  to  the  kitchen.  He 
had  startled  himself  into  a  frightened  silence  for 
a  minute.  But  no  matter!  The  bills  would 
not  come  in  for  a  month,  and  surely  Mildred 
would  remember  that  Anne  only  came  home 
once  in  her  life. 

"Well,  well,  my  dear!  How  Bruce  does  keep 
close  to  you!  Milly  detests  pets,  but  she  toler 
ates  him  because — he  was  your  mother's  dog, 
you  know." 

"Yes."  Anne  laid  her  cheek  down  on  the 
shaggy  head  in  her  lap.  "But  we  must  have 
a  half  dozen  more.  I'm  very  fond  of  dogs,"  she 
said. 

"Oh?  Six  dogs!  Why,  Mildred— but  run 
up  to  your  room  now.  Dinner  will  soon  be 
ready." 

Anne  ran  up  the  stairs,  and  then  down  by  the 
back  way  and  out  through  the  garden  to  a  little 
mound  among  the  crocuses.  She  knew  the  way 
in  the  dark!  She  had  been  thinking  of  coming 
here  for  five  years.  She  threw  herself  down,  cry 
ing  and  laughing  and  kissing  the  ground.  "  I've 
come  back  to  you,  mammy,  dear!  I've  come 
back  to  stay,"  she  cried. 

The  doctor  skipped  about,  putting  a  rose  in 
his  buttonhole,  adjusting  the  glasses  on  the  table, 
humming  a  dozen  tunes.  How  lucky  it  was  that 


44 


he  had  thought  of  decorating  the  house  with 
holly!  She  had  seen  it  in  an  instant.  That  girl 
saw  every  thing !  He  would  show  her  the  etchings 
after  dinner.  And  to  think  that  an  hour  ago  he 
did  not  know  what  was  coming  to  him!  A  com 
panion  for  life!  Mildred  was  a  dear  girl,  but 
she  understood  him  no  better  than  if  he  were  an 
Esquimau. 

When  they  were  seated  at  dinner,  the  holly- 
berries  glowing  between  him  and  the  young,  vivid 
face  opposite,  he  cackled  on  without  ceasing.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  he  had  not  talked  before  for 
years. 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  have  a  good  appetite, 
my  dear.  Your  sister  only  nibbles.  We  don't 
have  game  or  ice  cream  unless  when  Mildred 
entertains  the  millionnaires  of  Luxborough,  but 
I  thought  that  to-night — 

"She  entertains  a  great  deal  then?  lam  so 
glad  of  that!  Mamma  always  had  a  cover  laid 
for  any  one  who  might  drop  in." 

"Oh,  Mildred  says  that  kind  of  hospitality 
is  out  of  date.  She  has  to  perform  her  social 
duties,  you  know.  <  Keeping  up  with  the  pro 
cession,'  they  call  it.  She  has  two  heavy  dinners 
yearly  for  these  people  who  only  come  to  feed, 
and  pays  her  debts  to  all  the  others  by  one  big 
reception.  She  borrows  for  that  day  your  Cousin 
Julia's  silver  and  Turkish  rugs  and  curtains " 

"Ah-h!"  gasped  Anne. 

"Yes,  quite  so!  I  don't  think  it  is  in  good 
taste,  myself.  I  say — damn  the  millionnaires !  I 
beg  your  pardon,  my  dear.  Why  go  into  their 


45 


set  at  all,  or  try  to  compete  with  them  ?  That's 
what  I  say.  But  Mildred  manages — every 
thing,  money  and  accounts.  I  have  my  own 
occupations — a  kind  which  society  don't  touch. 
I  live  my  life  apart.  Do  take  this  bird,  dear  ? 
Well,  if  you  won't " — laying  it  on  his  plate. 
"  So  it  goes.  She  keeps  up  appearances,  you 
see.  Two  dinners  and  the  At  Home.  But  the 
rest  of  the  time  it's  bare,  very  bare!  Why,  I 

haven't  tasted  partridges  before,  since "  The 

doctor  forgot  to  finish  the  sentence,  anxiously 
nibbling  the  juicy  morsels  until  the  bones  were 
bare,  and  then  wiping  his  gray  mustache  and 
leaning  back  with  the  air  of  a  gourmand.  i '  That 
was  really  an  excellent  dinner! "  The  little  man 
contentedly  clasped  his  hands  over  his  stomach. 
"  Milly  made  out  a  bill  of  fare  for  each  day  while 
she  was  gone.  It  was — not  long." 

His  complacency  increased  with  each  moment. 
The  big  fire  burned.  He  had  for  once  had  plenty 
to  eat,  and  there  sat  Anne — young,  yet  belonging 
to  his  own  generation — listening  to  every  word 
he  spoke  with  eager,  trembling  lips.  She  loved 
the  theatre.  She  turned  over  his  etchings  with 
a  sort  of  reverent  ecstasy!  His  stories  of  the 
elder  Booth  and  Macready  and  Jenny  Lind  were 
new  to  her,  and  when  he  sang  a  snatch  of  one  of 
the  great  Swede's  ballads,  the  tears  actually  came 
into  her  eyes.  "Tut,  tut  !  child!  "  he  said,  pat 
ting  her  shoulder.  "You  like  it,  eh?  My 
voice  is  cracked  now,  but  once — well,  well!" 
Then  he  told  her  of  his  music-teacher  in  Paris, 
and  of  Paris  itself — a  jumble  of  his  tramps 


46 


through  the  forest  at  Fontainebleau,  and  royal 
processions,  and  dinners,  when  his  last  coat  was 
pawned,  of  pot-au-feu  and  bread— fit  for  the 
gods. 

''We'll  go  there  together  some  day,"  she  said, 
drawing  a  long  breath  when  he  paused. 

So  it  came  about  that  evening,  while  his  heart 
was  melted  and  his  judgment  shaken  by  the 
coming  of  this  new  affection  and  sympathy  into 
his  life,  that  he  told  Anne  his  great  secret — took 
her  up  to  a  closet  in  his  room  and  showed  her 
a  mysterious  collection  of  glass  tubes  and  dishes. 

"This  is  my  true  work.  I  never  speak  of  it 
to  Mildred.  But  here  is  where  I  find  my  real 
life,"  he  said,  with  a  dramatic  wave  of  the  hand. 

"What  are  they?"  Anne  asked,  awe-struck. 
"  What  is  it  that  you  do  here,  papa  ? " 

"I  study  the  germs  of  disease.  It  is  com 
paratively  a  new  pursuit  in  this  country.  I 
purposed  to  give  myself  up  to  original  research 
when  I  left  the  army,  but  I  had  to  begin  prac 
tice — I  had  a  young,  helpless  family." 

"Yes,  us.  I  know!"  stroking  his  arm.  "And 
then  ?  " 

"I  cannot  attend  to  both.  Sometimes  I  feel 
that  I  am  on  the  verge  of  a  discovery  which  will 
make  the  world  hold  its  breath.  If  I  could  pur 
sue  my  experiments,  I  know  that  I  should  find  the 
germ  of  cholera.  By  inoculating  for  it,  I  should 
save  thousands  of  lives." 

Anne's  eyes  flashed.  "And  yet  you  do  not 
pursue  your  experiments!  You  could  benefit 
the  whole  human  race,  and  you  go  on  earning 


47 


money  for  us  ?  Has  Mildred  allowed  you  to 
make  such  a  sacrifice?" 

"Oh,  I  never  have  told  Milly,"  the  doctor 
said,  with  almost  a  sob.  He  was  greatly  excited. 
The  cholera  germ  had  really  been  a  very  vague 
idea  until  to-night,  but  Anne's  faith  gave  it  a 
sudden  reality.  "I  oughtn't  to  have  told  you. 
But  I  have  had  this  secret  so  many  years,  and 
you  come  so  close  to  me,  Nancy." 

"Yes,  yes!  I  understand.  Let  me  think  a 
moment! " 

She  walked  up  and  down  the  chamber,  her 
cheeks  hot,  her  eyes  burning.  Here  was  a  man 
within  reach  of  a  great  triumph — a  mighty  gift 
for  all  mankind,  and  his  hands  were  tied  by  duty 
— duty  to  her !  On  the  very  night  that  she  came 
home,  to  discover  such  a  hero — and  in  her  dear 
old  father!  Anne's  imagination,  always  ready 
to  kindle,  was  now  all  aflame. 

She  must  act  at  once  and  for  the  whole  family. 
But  discreetly.  In  her  own  opinion  she  was 
always  as  discreet  as  the  judicious  Hooker 
himself. 

"Now,  father,  come  and  let  us  talk  this 
matter  over  coolly.  Let  us  go  down  to  the  fire 
again.  We  will  be  perfectly  calm.  We  must  do 
nothing  hastily." 

When  they  were  seated  beside  the  library  table, 
she  began  gravely,  "Have  you  never  seriously 
thought  of  giving  up  your  practice  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes!  I  think  of  giving  it  up  every 
day.  It's  a  terrible  grind.  You've  no  idea  how 
stiff  one's  legs  are,  riding  over  these  hills  ! " 


"Is  there  any  one  to  take  your  patients  ? 
They  must  not  suffer." 

'£ Any  one?  There's  a  dozen!  The  country's 
swarming  with  Bob  Sawyers.  But  you  don't  wish 
me  to  stop  at  once  ?  " 

"In  a  day — an  hour — if  that  will  hasten  your 
great  work!  But  we  must  be  practical,  dear. 
What  income  have  you  outside  of  your  practice  ?  " 

"Well,  there's  this  house — and  the  land  about 
it.  Enough  for  chickens,  and  pigs,  and  calves, 
and  potatoes,  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Quite  enough,  I  fancy.  Chickens  and  veal  ? 
We  shall  live  like  Irish  kings!  That  is  all  ?" 

"  Oh,  dear,  no!  "  said  the  doctor,  with  a  little 
pompous  laugh.  "There  are  some  government 
and  railway  bonds,  bringing  in  two  thousand  or 
thereabouts — Milly  knows." 

"Why,  we  are  rich!  And  now  that  I  am  at 
home  my  school  expenses  will  be  saved.  Papa, 
you  must  stop  at  once!  Write  to  Mildred  to 
night " 

"I — would  it  be  necessary  to  write  to  Mil 
dred?" 

The  doctor  was  being  swept  off  of  solid  ground 
into  a  great  flood.  He  thrilled  with  exhilaration. 
To  discover  this  germ!  To  become  famous  all 
over  the  world — to  be  able  to  be  done  with  back- 
breaking  rides,  and  to  be  able  to  stay  in  bed  all 
night  and  every  night!  But,  if  Mildred  knew  ? 

If  the  step  could  be  taken  while  she  was 
gone,  there  would  be  a  victory! 

"  If  the  thing  is  right  to  do,  let  me  do  it!  "  he 
blustered.  "  Never  mind  Mildred." 


"'TO   THINK    MY    FATHER    IS   TO   DO    THIS    GREAT    WORK  !' 


49 


"  Right?  There  can  be  no  question  in  the 
matter!  Of  course  Mildred  will  agree  with  us." 
Her  courage  was  so  lofty  and  gay  that  the  doc 
tor's  momentary  bravado  suddenly  collapsed 
before  it. 

"It  is  too  important  a  thing  to  decide  in 
haste,  child,  "  he  said  irritably. 

"It  is  too  important  to  dawdle  about,"  she 
retorted  quickly.  "  Let  us  talk  it  over  in 
detail." 

They  talked  it  over  until  the  clock  struck 
twelve,  one,  two.  The  more  the  doctor  vacil 
lated,  the  more  urgent  Anne  grew  to  force  him 
into  heroism. 

"  How  can  I  give  up  my  patients,  my  dear  ? 
We  will  starve!"  he  cried  for  the  twentieth 
time. 

"  Mr.  Greeley  says  the  way  to  resume  specie 
payment  is  to  resume!"  she  said.  "The  way 
to  resign  your  practice  is  to  resign.  Wait  a 
moment!  " 

She  seated  herself  at  the  desk,  drew  a  sheet  of 
paper  toward  her,  and  wrote  a  courteous  note 
stating  that  Doctor  Warrick,  having  resolved  to 
devote  his  whole  attention  to  laboratory  work, 
must  decline  to  receive  patients  after  the  first  day 
of  the  ensuing  February. 

"There!  That  is  concise  and  businesslike," — 
looking  at  it  critically.  "  Give  me  a  list  of  your 
patients,  and  I  will  copy  it  to-morrow  and  send  it 
out  to  them.  You  can  call  and  explain  a  little, 
to  be  friendly." 

"Yes,  yes!"     The  doctor  chuckled.      "What 
4 


a  breeze  it  will  raise  in  Luxborough!  And  Mil 
dred —  Copy  it  early  in  the  morning,  my 
dear.  Something  might  happen." 

He  gave  her  his  list  and  carried  her  candle  to 
her  door,  kissing  her  good-night.  She  held  him, 
her  hands  on  his  cheeks. 

"To  think  my  father  is  to  do  this  great  work! 
My  father  " — her  lips  quivering. 

"  Yes,  dear.  You  do  carry  things  with  a  high 
hand!  I  wonder  what  Milly  will  say?  We 
must  send  her  a  copy." 

He  went,  laughing  to  himself,  to  his  own  room. 
The  doctor's  triumph  was  not  so  much  that  of  a 
hero  taking  up  his  life's  work,  as  of  a  donkey 
kicking  off  a  load. 

But  Anne  did  not  suspect  that.  She  glanced 
at  the  list  of  patients.  "How  few  there  are! 
They  do  not  appreciate  him  here,  then  ?  They 
will,  some  day!"  She  kneeled  at  her  prayers, 
trembling  with  a  lofty  exultation.  "Well,  I  have 
done  a  good  day's  work  for  the  world!"  she 
sighed,  smiling  happily  as  she  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  circulars  were  sent  out  and  Doctor  War- 
rick  hurried  from  house  to  house,  explaining  the 
reason  of  his  self-sacrifice.  Luxborough  heard 
the  news  with  smiling  indifference.  The  doctor 
was  one  of  themselves,  and,  if  he  had  committed 
burglary,  his  old  neighbors  would  have  hushed  it 
up.  They  would  hush  it  up  now,  if  he  chose  to 
play  the  fool  and  starve;  but  they  had  no  interest 
in  his  germs  or  in  any  such  new-fangled  folly. 

Anne  was  amazed  when  the  great  deed  thus 
fell  flat  on  the  world's  ear,  but  she  indignantly 
urged  her  father  on  to  work.  "  You  are  the  only 
man  in  America  who  is  trying  to  do  this  thing," 
she  said ;  "  you  will  soon  be  a  benefactor  to  every 
nation  on  earth!  " 

She  wrote  huge  and  ardent  letters  to  Mildred 
to  this  effect;  the  doctor  also  wrote  to  her,  stat 
ing  how  prudent  his  course  had  been;  how  every 
detail  of  income,  outlay,  etc.,  had  been  con 
sidered  before  the  irrevocable  step  was  taken. 
Mildred  simply  replied,  "I  have  received  your 
circular,  dearest  papa." 

A  certain  look  of  alarm  deepened  on  the 
doctor's  face  after  that.  He  busied  himself  in 
his  laboratory  for  a  week.  Then  a  new  novel 
fell  in  his  way,  and  he  began  to  take  Anne  to  the 
theatre  in  the  evenings,  finding  that  as  to  melo- 


drama  her  taste  needed  training,  and  then  a  great 
event  occurred,  which  drove  germ  culture  quite 
out  of  his  head. 

During  this  winter  Mr.  Hears,  the  humani 
tarian,  had  been  urging  upon  the  Northern  people 
his  pet  scheme  for  establishing  colonies  from  the 
surplus  population  of  their  cities  in  the  cheap 
lands  of  the  South.  He  insisted,  as  our  readers 
doubtless  will  remember,  that  these  wildernesses 
could  be  made  at  small  cost  to  blossom  into 
creamery  farms  and  chicken  factories,  whereby 
New  York  toughs  and  Chicago  anarchists  would 
speedily  be  converted  into  mild,  church-going 
citizens. 

Major  Patton,  the  railway  king,  was  one  of  Mr. 
Mears's  enthusiastic  supporters,  and  offered  him 
a  special  train  for  a  tour  of  inspection  through 
the  South.  The  major  invited  a  few  of  his  own 
friends  to  accompany  them.  Among  these  were 
Doctor  Warrick,  his  daughters,  and  Mrs.  Dane. 

Mildred  returned  unexpectedly  at  this  juncture. 
Anne,  who  had  been  tramping  over  the  hills  one 
afternoon,  came  home  late  in  a  heavy  rain,  and 
saw  through  the  window  a  plump  little  woman 
in  pale  blue,  quietly  seated  by  the  fire,  sewing. 
She  threw  up  the  window  and  rushed  in,  followed 
by  the  driving  gust. 

"Oh,  my  darling!"  she  screamed.  "Oh, 
Milly!  Is  it  really  you — you  ?"  She  threw  her 
self  on  her  knees,  hugging  her  sister,  looking  up 
into  her  pleased,  smiling  face,  stroking  her  soft 
cheeks.  "Five  years!  Yes,  five  years,  that  I 
haven't  had  you!  "  she  cried. 


53 


"We  will  always  have  each  other  now,"  said 
Milly  gently,  kissing  her  on  the  forehead. 
"  Close  the  window,  Peter,  please.  Don't  be  so 
nervous,  my  dear.  I  am  afraid  I  have  startled 
you.  I  really  arrived  at  Luxborough  this  morn 
ing,  but  I  had  to  establish  Mrs.  Joyce  comfort 
ably  before  I  came  home." 

"  I  —  I  have  so  much  to  say  to  you,"  stammered 
Anne,  rising  discomfited,  she  knew  not  why. 

"Of  course  you  have."  Milly  stood  on  tip 
toe  to  kiss  her  cheek  again.  "But  dinner  will 
be  ready  in  twenty  minutes.  Run  now  and  dress. 
You  are  very  wet." 

Anne  turned  at  the  door  to  look  at  her  again, 
but  Milly  did  not  see  her.  She  was  patting  the 
rain  spots  on  her  gown  with  her  handkerchief. 

There  were  a  thousand  things  which  Anne  had 
been  keeping  through  these  years  to  tell  to  Mil 
dred.  Was  she  not  her  own,  only  sister  ? 

Neither  that  day,  nor  any  day  did  the  time 
come  to  tell  them.  Milly  never  "  talked  things 
over."  Anne's  return,  the  doctor's  surrender  of 
his  practice,  the  long  journey  which  they  were 
soon  to  make,  were  accepted  without  comment  as 
matters  of  course.  After  her  arrival  the  house 
grew  neat,  the  meals  shrank  into  mere  morsels, 
and  preparations  for  the  journey  were  made  in  the 
same  calm  silence.  Anne  felt  her  own  passionate 
spurts  of  energy  feeble  and  ridiculous  beside  the 
steady  progress  of  this  fair,  low-voiced  girl,  who 
handled  the  worst  difficulties  of  life  as  if  they 
were  bits  of  a  dissected  map;  a  touch  of  her  firm 
white  fingers,  and  they  fell  into  order. 


54 


After  five  weeks'  delay  Mr.  Hears  announced 
that  he  was  ready  to  start.  He  had  asked 
Brooke  Calhoun  to  go  with  him.  He  needed  a 
practical  farmer  to  pronounce  upon  soils,  methods 
of  tillage,  etc. 

"You  are  young,  Calhoun,"  he  said;  "but 
there  is  not  a  farmer  in  Pennsylvania  for  whose 
judgment  I  have  more  respect." 

Brooke  laughed.  "Of  course,  you  know,  Mr. 
Mears,"  he  said,  "that  it  is  the  biggest  chance 
that  ever  has  come  into  my  life.  I  never  have 
had  time  or  money  to  study  soils  or  crops  outside 
of  this  State.  For  that  reason  you  make  a  mis 
take  in  taking  me.  I  know  nothing  about  rice 
or  sugar  culture.  I'll  go  farther,"  raising  his 
voice  when  Mr.  Mears  would  have  spoken,  "and 
say  honestly  that  I  think  you  are  making  a  worse 
mistake  in  trying  to  rescue  New  York  thieves  or 
paupers  by  dumping  them  out  in  the  country. 
Farmers  are  made,  not  born.  A  clever  pick 
pocket  is  not  necessarily  a  successful  or  a  moral 
potato  grower." 

Mr.  Mears  smiled.  He  had  an  obstinate 
feminine  smile.  "We  won't  argue,  Calhoun. 
I  never  argue.  I  know  I  am  right  in  this.  In 
any  case  come  with  me,  and  keep  me  from  going 
too  far  astray.  It  is  settled,  eh  ?  " 

Brooke  hesitated.  "I  will  give  you  my 
answer  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Mears  had  a  womanish  dislike  to  being 
balked  in  a  pet  plan.  He  knew  that  the  liberal 
salary  offered  was  of  weight  with  Calhoun.  "I 
don't  know  why  you  hesitate,"  he  said  peevishly. 


55 


"That  model  little  farm  of  yours  ought  to  run 
without  you  for  a  few  weeks." 

"Oh,  that  would  be  all  right!  My  men  are 
competent." 

"You  have  neither  wife  nor  mother  to  consult. " 

"  No.     It's  my  brother,"  said  Brooke. 

"Edward?  Nonsense!  He  is  not  a  child. 
Much  more  a  man  of  the  world  than  you  are. 
Do  you  mean  to  say  he  can't  live  a  month  with 
out  you  ?  Why,  he  has  been  four  years  abroad." 

"Yes,"  said  Brooke.  They  walked  on  in 
silence  for  a  few  minutes.  "I  really  can't  de 
cide  without  seeing  Edward,"  he  said  abruptly. 
"You  will  hear  from  me  in  the  morning."  He 
turned  into  a  shop  to  avoid  further  discussion, 
and  Mr.  Mears,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  went  on. 

Mrs.  Dane,  in  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day, 
drove  out  to  The  Oaks  to  talk  over  the  prepara 
tions  for  the  journey. 

A  light  snow  whitened  the  fields.  Mrs.  Dane 
hurried  gladly  from  the  gray  cold  without  into 
the  wide,  warmly  colored  room.  A  log  burned 
on  the  hearth.  Before  one  of  the  windows  a 
handsome  blond  young  man,  in  a  loose  corduroy 
jacket,  was  perched  on  a  high  stool,  painting, 
while  Anne  posed  for  him  on  a  sofa,  wrapped  in 
a  red  shawl.  She  sprang  up  to  meet  her  cousin, 
while  the  artist  bowed  impatiently  and  waited, 
scowling,  his  brush  suspended  over  the  canvas. 

"Ah,  Edward  Calhoun  ?  Sorry  to  interrupt 
the  sitting!"  said  Mrs.  Dane  briskly.  "I  will 
sit  here  by  the  fire  until  I  thaw.  I  came  to  look 
after  your  arrangements,  my  dear." 


"Oh,  they  are  all  made!"  said  Anne.  "  Milly 
has  set  the  house  in  order,  and  started  papa 
on  his  farewell  visits.  She  is  over  at  Joyce 
House  now.  She  gives  every  afternoon  to 
that  poor  old  woman.  Will  you  not  go  on, 
Edward  ? " 

"  No,"  scraping  the  paint  from  his  palette 
impatiently.  "  It  is  impossible  now.  The  light 
has  changed.  You  have  lost  the  expression. 
Oh,  it  does  not  matter!"  He  hesitated  a 
moment  and  then  dashed  his  brush  across  the 
picture.  "You  are  not  to  blame,  Mrs.  Dane," 
in  answer  to  her  cry  of  horror.  "It  is  I.  An 
artist  could  take  up  the  idea  again.  But  a  poor 
dauber  like  me  is  dependent  on  the  fire  of  the 
moment.  The  fire  is  such  a  poor  flicker  that  it 
soon  goes  out!  "  with  a  bitter  laugh. 

Mrs.  Dane  had  a  long  acquaintance  with 
Edward  and  his  griefs.  "Patience,  my  dear 
boy!"  she  said.  "We  all  know  that  some  day 
you  will  do  immortal  work.  You  have  sent  your 
'  Twilight  at  Carnac '  on  to  New  York  ?  " 

"He  painted  it  out  yesterday,"  said  Anne. 
"  And  his  great '  Annunciation  '  he  slashed  out  of 
the  frame  the  day  before." 

"Laugh,  if  you  feel  like  it."  The  young  fel 
low  was  very  pale.  "The  joke  for  you  is  death 
to  me.  I  waken  every  morning  thinking,  '  To-day 
I  will  do  great  Work.'  I  do  it,  and  it  is  trash! 
I've  no  chance  here,"  he  went  on  irritably. 
"The  light  is  hard;  every  thing  in  this  country 
is  so  abominably  crude  and  raw.  If  I  could  have 
stayed  in  Persia!  I  was  mastering  color  there, 


57 


when  the  rheumatism  seized  me.  It  was  my 
usual  luck!  "  with  a  grim  shrug. 

"Poor  boy!"  said  Mrs.  Dane  anxiously. 
"Why  don't  you  paint  your  cousin  Mildred? 
You  have  beauty  there  surely,  pure  and  simple." 

"Yes,  the  beauty  of  a  bit  of  bisque  china  ! 
Now,  Anne,"  scanning  the  girl  critically  through 
his  half-shut  eyes,  "Anne  is  like  a  twilight  study 

by  Corot — it  only  suggests But  what  infinite 

meanings,  possibilities " 

"  He  has  found  the  possibility  of  every  charac 
ter  in  history  and  fiction  in  me,"  Anne  said,  red 
dening  and  laughing.  "One  day  I  am  Joan 
listening  to  the  angels,  and  the  next  Becky  Sharp. 
Ned  is  especially  unhappy  this  evening,"  looking 
at  him  as  she  would  at  a  fretful  child,  "  because 
Brooke  has  had  this  offer  to  go  with  Mn  Mears." 

"You  think  I  am  base  enough  to  begrudge 
Brooke  his  chance  ?  Thank  God,  I  am  not 
selfish!  Nobody  can  accuse  me  of  that.  But 
now,  Mrs.  Dane,"  turning  to  her  with  a  nervous 
laugh,  "confess  that  it  h  a  little  hard!  The 
southern  warmth,  and  color,  and  landscape  are 
exactly  what  I  want  for  my  art.  That  good 
honest  soul  Brooke  does  not  know  one  color  from 
another.  He  sees  nothing  but  lumber  and  crops 
in  Nature.  Yet — he  goes,  and  I  stay  on  the 
farm!  I  am  so  tired  of  that  neat  house,  and 
the  meals  like  clock-work,  and  Brooke's  eternal 
drudge  drudge,  that  if  I  could  turn  tramp  and 
take  to  the  road,  it  would  be  my  salvation!  " 

Mildred  had  entered  during  this  tirade,  and 
waited  until  it  was  finished.  "  Brooke  is  coming 


through  the  orchard  in  great  haste,  Edward,"  she 
said. 

The  lad's  face  lighted,  as  it  always  did  at  the 
sight  of  his  brother.  "  Brooke  always  rushes 
along,  his  nose  in  the  air  as  if  he  had  just  heard 
good  news  and  was  in  a  hurry  to  tell  it,"  he  said, 
laughing,  and  went  to  meet  him. 

Mrs.  Dane  looked  after  him  eagerly.  He  was 
the  only  man  of  genius  that  she  knew.  "  Edward 
is  always  most  interesting  to  me,"  she  said, 
"most  interesting!  He  has  undoubtedly  had 
hard  measure  in  the  world." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  cousin  Julia  ?"  said  Milly 
softly.  She  had  not  quite  lost  her  lisp. 

"I  certainly  do.  Here  are  two  sons  of  the 
same  father.  Brooke's  mother  has  a  fortune: 
Edward's  not  a  penny.  Brooke  has  hard  com 
mon-sense  and  business  ability  to  earn  money. 
Edward,  who  has  none,  with  his  genius  and  sensi 
tive  nature  is  helpless.  I  have  no  doubt,  too, 
that  he  has  much  to  bear  from  his  domineering 
brother.  The  old  story  of  the  iron  and  porcelain 
pot!  I  consider  it  extremely  selfish  in  Brooke  to 
accept  the  offer  and  leave  his  brother  behind." 

"  Papa  told  me  that  he  declined  it  this  morn 
ing,"  said  Anne.  "He  saw  how  it  discouraged 
Ned." 

"Declined  it!  Really?  Well,  of  course  he 
was  right.  But  such  an  opportunity  will  never 
come  in  his  way  again.  Declined  it  ?  Rather 
Quixotic  and  young  to  do  that.  At  least  so 
John  Hears  will  think." 

The  door  was  flung  open  and  Brooke  burst  in. 


59 


"  It's  all  right!  Great  news!  I  beg  your  pardon, 
Mrs.  Dane,  I  did  not  see  you.  I've  just  had  a 
note  from  Mr.  Mears  asking  me  to  bring  Ned. 
He  says  he  probably  can  be  of  use  drawing  maps, 
if  they  decide  upon  any  sites.  Of  course  Ned 
will  pay  his  own  expenses.  You  can  be  perfectly 
comfortable  on  that  score,  old  fellow.  But 
Mears's  letter  is  most  considerate  and  hearty.  I 
feel  as  if  I  could  shout!"  he  said,  laughing,  his 
face  red.  "Such  a  lark  for  us  all!"  He  was 
watching  Anne,  but  when  she  did  not  look  at  him 
he  turned  to  Edward.  "You  can  bathe  your 
soul  in  heat  and  color  now,  boy." 

"Have  you  accepted  for  me?"  said  Edward 
coldly. 

"  Why,  no ;  the  note  has  just  come.  But  I  am 
going  at  once  to  see  him." 

"You  can  tell  him,  then,  that  I  shall  not  go 
to  draw  his  maps !  What  does  he  take  me  for  ? 
Any  high-school  boy  can  draw  his  maps! 
Answer  the  man  civilly.  But  let  him  under 
stand  that  he  has  made  a  mistake!" 

"  Don't  be  too  hard  upon  him,  Edward,"  said 
Anne,  who  was  watching  him  with  cool  amuse 
ment,  as  he  pulled  his  long  beard  through  his 
trembling  fingers. 

"Oh,  it  is  the  American  idea  of  art!  I  am  not 
angry!  I  only  pity  his  ignorance." 

"All  right!"  said  Brooke  good-humoredly. 
"Come,  Ned.  Drive  home  with  me.  We  will 
talk  it  over  as  we  go." 

While  they  waited  for  the  sleigh  Mrs.  Dane 
talked  of  farming  to  Brooke.  She  prided  her- 


6o 


self  upon  the  tact  with  which  she  always  could 
aim  her  conversation  directly  at  each  man's 
specialty. 

But  Brooke,  while  he  talked  to  her  dogmati 
cally  of  draught-horses,  was  furtively  watching 
Anne.  He  had  been  in  Ohio,  and  had  seen  her 
but  once  or  twice  since  her  return.  He  had  an 
intense  curiosity  about  her.  She  held  herself 
aloof  from  him,  while  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  as 
he  saw,  even  to  the  horses  and  dogs,  easily  made 
friends  with  her.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Was  it 
only  the  prudish  school-training  ? 

She  had  been  a  frank,  ill-mannered,  hot- 
tempered  child.  But  he  had  found  something 
in  his  little  comrade  which  no  other  person  ever 
had  given  him.  Since  this  reticent,  grave  young 
woman  had  come  back  to  The  Oaks,  Calhoun 
felt  that  something  had  gone  out  of  his  life, 
which  he  might  never  find  again.  Whenever  he 
spoke  to  her,  he  knew  that  he  was  groping  in 
search  of  it. 

He  suddenly  quitted  Mrs.  Dane  and  crossed 
the  room  to  her. 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  if  I  cannot  take  this  journey 
with  you,"  he  said  abruptly.  "You  see  I  don't 
know  you  any  more.  Sometimes  I  think  that 
my  little  play-fellow  has  gone  out  of  the  world. 
I  want  to  find  her." 

"Ah?"  said  Anne  coldly.  "I  thought  that 
your  interest  in  this  expedition  lay  in  rice-cul 
ture  and  cattle  ?  " 

"Yes,  of  course,"  said  the  young  farmer 
eagerly.  "I  always  have  contended  that  Hoi- 


6l 


steins  will  not  find  the  grass  in  the  far  South  suc 
culent  enough  to —  But  what  do  you  care  for 
Holsteins  ?" 

Anne  lifted  her  eyebrows,  with  a  shrug,  and  at 
the  moment  Edward  called  his  brother.  "What 
an  ass  I  am ! "  thought  Brooke  angrily,  as  he  went 
out.  "She  will  think  that  I  am  more  interested 
in  cattle  than  in  her!  Well,  I  don't  know;  per 
haps  I  am!"  laughing,  as  he  jumped  into  the 
sleigh  and  waved  his  hat  to  her  in  the  window. 

Anne  stood  looking  gravely  after  him.  The 
last  six  weeks  had  been  heavy  with  disappoint 
ment  for  her.  She  had  left  school  eager  to  see 
the  great  struggles  that  were  going  on  in  the 
world.  Out  there  she  supposed  every  man  was 
striving  to  win  fame,  to  help  humanity.  Life 
was  a  sort  of  hurdle  race,  a  series  of  victorious 
leaps  to  triumph.  Now  it  was  Brooke,  who, 
long  ago,  had  planted  this  idea  in  her  mind. 
He  was  the  only  man  except  Colonel  Newcome 
whom  she  had  ever  really  known.  She  had  been 
his  little  adopted  sister  for  years.  The  big  lub 
berly  collegian  had  poured  out  his  most  secret 
ambitions  to  her.  She  was  looking  now  at  the 
very  bench  under  the  oaks  where  they  used  to 
sit  and  plan  how  he  would  be  a  great  lawyer,  an 
orator,  a  statesman.  He  might  have  been  any 
of  these  things.  Her  eyes  softened  with  tender 
feeling.  In  all  the  years  in  which  she  had  been 
gone,  she  had  been  planning  what  he  might  be. 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  contemptuously. 
He  was — nothing!  A  ploughman,  content  with 
his  turnips  and  pigs!  She  remembered  how 


62 


frantic  he  used  to  be  to  fight  for  some  great 
cause.  Slavery  was  abolished,  the  Union  was 
saved;  but  there  was  surely  other  great  work 
to  do  ? 

Anne  had  come  home  on  fire  with  these 
thoughts.  But  nobody  else  was  on  fire.  Her 
father's  noble  example  interested  nobody — not 
even  Milly.  Old  Luxborough  knew  of  no  great 
purpose  in  life  except  to  keep  strangers  out  of 
the  Monthly  Club.  Milly' s  purpose  was  to  hold 
her  footing  with  the  dull  patricians  on  top  of 
the  hill,  and  to  make  her  way  among  the  dull 
parvenus  at  the  foot,  with  as  little  expense  as 
possible.  There  must  be  a  bigger  life  than  this 
somewhere  in  the  world!  Old  Luxborough  was 
stifling,  clammy,  a  graveyard! 

Anne  played  Chopin  softly  as  the  twilight 
gathered,  the  hot,  angry  moisture  rising  to  her 
eyes.  Presently  her  father  and  Mr.  Mears  came 
into  the  room.  She  turned  civilly,  and  after  a 
while  listened.  Mr.  Mears  was  talking  of  a 
proposed  Reformatory  on  the  Lusk  system. 

This  man  had  noble  purposes!  She  looked  at 
him  eagerly,  seeing  as  for  the  first  time  his  lean, 
ascetic  figure  and  pale,  vague  eyes.  St.  Augus 
tine  must  have  looked  like  that  when  he  walked 
into  the  great  Council  singing  the  Te  Deum, 
leaving  paganism  behind!  To  save  thousands 
of  neglected  children — that  was  a  different  thing 
from  Holstein  cattle! 

Mr.  Mears,  turning  suddenly,  saw  the  pleading 
eyes  and  quivering  lips  of  the  young  girl.  What 
a  breathless  interest  she  took  in  his  plan!  He 


63 


directed  his  explanations  entirely  to  her  while  he 
stayed,  and  went  away  with  a  pleasant  sense  of 
encouragement.  This  fresh,  childish  enthusiasm 
was  certainly  a  relief  after  the  daily  sharp  criti 
cisms  of  his  elderly  woman  colleagues  on  the 
board!  He  wished  vaguely  that  he  had  a  sister 
or  an  aunt  or — something,  like  the  younger  Miss 
Warrick ;  and  then  remembered  with  a  little  shock 
of  pleasure  that,  she  was  going  South  with  her 
father. 

Anne  went  back  to  Chopin,  but  oddly  enough 
it  said  nothing  to  her  of  the  Lusk  system.  The 
most  melancholy  strain  expressed  only  sharp  dis 
like  of  Brooke  Calhoun.  She  would  never  change 
her  opinion  of  him!  Anne  knew  that  she  was 
apt  to  change  her  opinions.  At  school  she  had 
vehemently  sided  by  turns  with  the  abolitionists 
and  slave-holders,  aristocrats  and  anarchists. 
But  there  was  one  kind  of  man  for  whom  she  had 
no  sympathy  nor  use.  -The  grub,  the  earth 
worm.  She  was  quite  sure  of  herself  on  that 
point. 

Milly  told  her  presently  that  Brooke  was  com 
ing  to  breakfast  the  next  morning. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  see  him  at  breakfast  or  at 
any  other  time,"  said  Anne  tartly. 

Indeed,  her  antipathy  to  Brooke  Calhoun,  when 
she  went  to  bed  that  night,  was  so  virulent  and 
strong  that  it  seemed  to  have  given  a  new 
stability  to  her  character. 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  the  meantime  Brooke  whistled  to  his  horses 
and  bowled  cheerfully  along.  He  was  a  stout, 
warm-blooded  fellow;  and,  whenever  a  blast  of 
sleet  struck  their  faces,  he  whistled  more  loudly, 
and  told  Ned  again  that  it  was  a  glorious  day. 

"You  are  ready  to  shout  in  all  kinds  of 
weather,"  grumbled  Edward,  who  was  always  too 
hot  or  too  cold.  "This  air  is  death  to  me. 
Heavens!  To  think  that  you  will  pluck  roses 
out  of  doors  next  week !  "  He  waited  for  Brooke 
to  answer,  and  when  he  said  nothing,  went  on 
in  an  authoritative  tone.  "  Understand  me, 
Brooke,  you  are  to  go  with  Hears.  I  will  not 
permit  you  to  remain  with  me.  If  the  man  had 
not  insulted  me,  I  should  have  been  happy  to  go, 
God  knows!  Well,  he  probably  estimated  me  at 
my  true  value.  I  am  a  poor  creature,  as  far  as 
art  goes.  But  a  drawer  of  maps " 

"I  can't  discuss  it  with  this  wind  in  my  face," 
said  Brooke  cheerfully.  "I'm  starving,  too. 
The  thing  will  be  plainer  to  us  after  supper." 

The  road  wound  through  the  rich  farms  of 
Delaware  County,  and  Brooke  met  several  of  his 
neighbors.  They  halted  to  give  him  bits  of  news 
about  the  rise  in  school  taxes  or  the  water  famine. 
They  touched  their  hats  coolly  to  the  young  man 
beside  him.  There  was  a  general  belief  that 


65 

Calhoun  was  spoiling  the  lad.  One  woman,  in  a 
sleigh  that  passed  them,  spoke  of  his  singular 
beauty. 

"  Yes,"  said  her  father,  "  Ned  has  an  uncom 
mon  face.  He  was  painted  once  in  Rome  as 
Apollo,  and  he  has  been  posing  as  some  Greek 
god  ever  since." 

Ned  certainly  was  not  unconscious  of  the  effect 
of  his  fine  head  rising  out  of  the  rich  furs  in  which 
he  had  wrapped  himself,  nor  of  the  girl's  admir 
ing  glances.  The  talk  of  the  farmers  grew  in 
tolerable  after  that, 

He  remembered  how  he  and  some  of  the  men 
from  the  Latin  quarter  used  to  explore  the 
environs  of  Paris.  Different  evening  drives, 
those!  At  every  turn  their  keen  eyes  detected  a 
fine  shadow,  a  subtle  color,  or  some  picturesque 
grace  or  squalor.  These  Americans  had  no  ideas 
beyond  sugar-corn  or  calves.  Even  Brooke! 

"Get  on,  man!"  he  said  irritably.  "Damn 
it,  get  on!  " 

"I  must  stop  at  this  house.  Phipps!  Hello! 
Just  a  moment,  Ned.  About  those  pigs  ?" 

The  pig  question  consumed  twenty  minutes. 
Edward  sat  in  sullen  silence  until  they  reached 
home. 

The  farm-house  was  aglow  with  comfort,  fire 
light  shone  in  every  window.  Savory  smells 
stole  out  into  the  frosty  air.  The  old  house,  in 
which  six  generations  of  the  Dacres  had  lived 
a-nd  died,  stood  on  one  of  the  lower  spurs  of  the 
Alleghany  Mountains.  Like  most  Colonial  farm 
houses  in  Pennsylvania  it  was  built  of  rough 
5 


66 

rf* 

blocks  of  gray  stone,  square  and  solid,  with  after 
thoughts  of  offices  and  store-rooms  growing  out 
of  the  sides.  Rain  and  lichen  had  mellowed  the 
walls  into  warm  saffron  and  yellow  tints;  the 
American  ivy  muffled  the  sides  and  the  steep 
roof,  green  or  blood-red  most  of  the  year. 

Inside  of  the  house  were  no  modern  pretti- 
nesses:  the  ceilings  were  low,  the  rooms  large. 
Even  in  July  logs  smouldered  in  the  huge  fire 
places.  There  was  an  atmosphere  of  large, 
happy  content  about  the  place  which  did  not  suit 
Edward's  mood.  He  swore  now  at  the  boys  who 
rushed  out  to  take  the  horses,  and  kicked  his 
way  through  the  dogs  that  barked  a  welcome. 
Brooke  lingered,  laughing  and  talking  to  them 
all.  He  always  welcomed  himself  home  with 
fresh  delight,  if  he  had  been  gone  but  a  day. 

He  had  seen  English  manors  and  Colorado 
ranches,  but  in  his  secret  soul  he  thought  them 
mean  compared  to  this  old  house,  and  rich  little 
farm,  which  the  mother  whom  he  had  loved  so 
much  had  given  him. 

In  the  fulness  of  his  good  humor  he  blurted 
out  this  opinion  when  they  were  seated  at  sup 
per.  Edward  stared  at  him. 

"  I  should  not  select  this  assortment  of  corn- 
ricks  and  barns  as  the  ideal  home,"  he  said  dryly. 

Brooke  laughed,  and  recommended  the  steak. 
He  felt  it  to  be  natural  that  Ned,  with  his  poetic 
temperament,  should  be  fretful:  it  was  as  natural 
too,  that  he  should  always  be  the  victim  of  Ned's 
ill  temper  as  that  he  should  be  wet  when  it  rained. 
Nobody  was  to  blame. 


67 

"  Nothing  that  I  say  goes  through  his  rhi 
noceros  hide!"  thought  Edward.  Yet  it  was 
this  blind  good  humor  which  made  Brooke 
necessary  to  him.  He  pushed  away  his  plate  and 
watched  him  make  a  hearty  meal,  with  the  con 
temptuous  affection  which  he  might  feel  for  a  dog. 

"  Of  course  they  all  will  blame  me  for  hinder 
ing  you  from  going  with  Hears,"  he  said  pres 
ently,  in  an  aggrieved  tone.  •  "  I  suppose  it  would 
be  a  profitable  trip  to  you  ?  " 

"  There  are  plenty  of  profits  to  be  made  at 
home.  Some  more  coffee,  Dolly." 

"You'll  kill  yourself  eating  such  heavy  sup 
pers.  I  ought  to  say  for  you  to  go.  But  I  can 
not  stay  here  alone.  I  simply  cannot.  You  are 
the  back-bone  of  my  life,  Brooke." 

"  Glad  of  it,  boy,"  said  his  brother,  glancing  at 
him  affectionately. 

"  I've  no  doubt  Milly  and  Anne  regard  me  as 
a  miserable  drag  on  you,"  he  said,  giving  a  dog 
who  fawned  on  him  an  angry  kick.  "  And  so  I 
have  been.  I  see  it.  I'm  not  ungrateful." 

"Ned " 

"I'm  not  ungrateful,"  raising  his  voice.  "I 
never  had  a  cent  of  my  own,  and  I  have  spent 
your  money  like  water.  Those  years  in  Paris,  and 
that  trip  to  Persia,  must  have  cost  you  a  pretty 
penny.  You  never  could  afford  decent  clothes 
for  yourself.  And  the  bric-a-brac  and  rugs  and 
pictures  I  brought  back!  Why,  the  duties  you 
paid  on  them  in  New  York  ran  up  into  the  thou 
sands.  I've  been  a  whelp— a  damnably  selfish 
whelp." 


63 


"Once  for  all,  Ned,"  said  Brooke  sternly, 
"  there  can  be  no  question  of  money  between 
you  and  me.  If  you  had  it  and  I  had  not,  I 
would  come  to  you  for  it.  God  has  given  you  a 
great  talent,  and  what  is  our  money  for  but  to 
develop  it  ?  Let  me  never  hear  of  this  again." 
He  walked  nervously  across  the  room,  and  com 
ing  back,  laid  his  hand  on  the  lad's  shoulder. 
"Why,  Ned,  you're — you're  my  brother,"  he  said, 
his  heavy  face  contracting. 

Ned  nodded,  laughing  excitedly.  "That's  so! 
And  you're  only  just  to  me,  old  man,  when  you 
say  that  if  I  had  the  money  I'd  spend  it  on  you. 
Thank  God,  there's  not  a  mean  bone  in  my  body! 
I  value  money  no  more  than  dust — dust!  I'll 
repay  you  some  day.  WThen  I  paint  my  great 
picture  I'll  put  your  name  with  my  own  in  the 
corner.  You  shall  have  the  credit  of  it  through 
all  time.  About  that  picture,  by  the  way;  I've 
an  idea " 

Brooke  sat  down,  lighted  his  pipe,  called  the 
dogs  to  him,  and  listened  while  Ned  dilated  on 
Breton  peasants  arid  Alpine  sunsets.  He  stopped 
abruptly.  "I  know  what  you  think!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "  That  I  should  find  subjects  at  home  ? 
Lay  the  foundations  of  an  American  art,  vigorous 
and  novel  ?  I  agree  with  you." 

"I  know  nothing  about  art,"  said  Brooke 
cautiously. 

"I  have  often  thought  of  it.  It  is  the  short 
cut  to  success."  He  was  silent  a  while,  then 
jumped  up  impatiently. 

"But  what  can  I  do  here?     How  can  I  paint 


69 


American  scenery  shut  into  this  little  farm  ? 
Brooke,  listen  to  reason.  We  are  wasting  our 
lives  in  these  potato-fields.  You  as  much  as  I. 
Let  us  quit  them!" 

"Quit  the  farm?"  Brooke  looked  at  him 
sharply.  Most  of  his  evenings  were  spent  in 
listening  placidly  to  Ned's  wild  schemes.  But 
this  was  earnest. 

"Yes,  quit  the  farm.  I  never  could  under 
stand  why  you  were  on  it.  When  I  went  abroad 
you  were  studying  law.  Your  heart  was  in  that. 
When  I  came  back  you  were  absorbed  by  Ruta 
bagas  and  oats." 

"  I  don't  dislike  farming,  and  I  am  satisfied 
with  the  old  home,"  said  Brooke  evasively. 

"Ah?  I  am  not,  then.  Listen  to  reason. 
Rent  the  place.  Then  we  shall  be  free-footed. 
You  can  practice  law  in  New  York,  and  I  can 
travel  and  study  American  scenery.  What  do 
you  think?" — breathlessly.  "What  do  you  say 
to  that  ? " 

Brooke's  countenance  clouded.  "You  have 
forgotten  one  thing,"  he  said,  forcing  a  laugh. 
"How  are  we  to  live  in  the  meantime?  It 
would  require  years  for  me  to  gain  a  practice  in 
New  York." 

"Why,  your  income "  exclaimed  Ned,  with 

an  amazed  stare.  "Your  mother  left  you  a 
fortune." 

"A  very  small  one,"  said  Brooke  hastily. 
"Besides  the  farm  I  had  a  few  railway  bonds. 
I  have  sold  them." 

"You  have  nothing  but  this  farm  ? " 


"Not  a  dollar.  And  I  have  to  work  it  myself 
to  make  it  pay." 

"The  bonds  should  have  kept  you  until  you 
had  made  your  footing  sure  in  your  profession," 
Edward  said  authoritatively.  He  walked  up  and 
down  with  a  puzzled  face  while  Brooke  watched 
him  furtively.  "I'm  afraid,"  he  said,  stopping 
abruptly,  "that  you  managed  badly,  old  man.  I 
never  should  have  suspected  you  of  extravagance, 
though." 

Brooke  laughed,  with  sudden  relief,  and  lighted 
his  pipe,  which  had  gone  out.  "What  is  done 
is  done.  I  must  stick  to  the  Ruta-bagas,  you  see. " 

Edward  sat  down,  holding  his  head  between 
his  hands,  in  gloomy  silence.  Suddenly  he  started 
up.  "I  have  it!  You  said  I  would  pay  my  own 
expenses  with  Hears?  Why  not  give  me  the 
same  amount  and  let  me  go  alone  ?  To  my 
mother's  people  in  Louisiana?  By  all  reports  the 
Soudes  are  a  good  stock — worth  knowing.  I 
could  study  the  scenery  on  the  Gulf !  By  George, 
Brooke,  that's  a  great  idea!  I  would  have  no  end 
of  a  good  time.  It  would  set  you  free  to  go 
with  Mears.  Though  he's  a  cad.  But  if  you  like 

him Why  do  you  look  so  grumpy  about  it  ? 

You  object  ?  I  wish  you  to  be  satisfied,"  he  said, 
hesitating.  "  What's  wrong,  then  ?  Where's  the 
difficulty  ?  Oh,  I  see " — rising  with  an  angry 
laugh.  "New  Orleans  is  not  a  Sunday-school! 
I  may  play  euchre  ?  This  is  a  little  too  much, 
Brooke!  You  know  that  I  have  outgrown  that 
folly.  Come  now,  old  fellow,  don't  draw  the 
reins  too  tight.  I'm  not  built  like  you." 


«k 


7 1 


Calhoun  did  not  speak  fora  minute.  "No," 
he  said,  "and  I  have  no  right  to  dictate  to 
you." 

"Good!  I'll  promise  you — anything!  What 
a  glorious  idea  it  was!  Why,  I'll  bring  you 
home  studies  that — you'll  see!  It  won't  cost 
any  more  than  staying  at  home  either." 

Brooke  nodded.  "  Let  me  know  in  the  morn 
ing  how  much  you  will  need." 

"  I'll  tell  you  now.  I'll  make  an  estimate.  I 
like  to  be  accurate  about  money.  I'll  sum  up 
my  necessary  expenses  " — taking  out  a  pencil  and 
paper  anxiously.  "Of  course  I'll  take  a  little 
over;  just  a  margin  in  case  of  accident.  One 
likes  to  feel  secure.  I  need  not  use  it,  you 
know." 

"Don't  stint  yourself,  Ned.  We  have  plenty 
for  that."  He  filled  his  pipe  and  sauntered  out 
to  the  porch,  laughing  to  himself.  Of  course 
the  money  would  fly  like  leaves  before  the  wind, 
but  it  would  be  almost  against  Ned's  will.  He 
was  considerate;  he  would  be  a  miser  with  his 
brother's  money — if  he  could. 

Brooke  strolled  up  and  down  in  high  good 
humor,  glancing  in  at  Ned  and  his  anxious  cal 
culations  as  an  indulgent  mother  might  have 
done. 

The  boy  would  make  his  southern  studies, 
perhaps  paint  his  great  picture  now. 

"Then,"  thought  Brooke,  "  he  will  be  happy 
at  last.  He  will  stand  on  his  own  feet."  For 
he  always  supposed  that  Ned's  chronic  miseries 
grew  out  of  his  dislike  to  be  a  burden  on  him. 


72 


Brooke,  who  had  no  taste  for  self-sacrifice,  was 
heartily  glad  that  he  was  free  to  go.  "The 
journey,"  he  reflected,  "will  be  of  enormous 

value   to   me   in   my  business.     And "      His 

eyes  grew  bright  and  tender  as   he  thought  of 
two  months  of  daily  life  with  his  little  comrade. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ANNE  awoke  often  that  night,  to  tell  herself 
that  she  would  not  go  down  to  breakfast.  She 
would  make  it  a  rule  for  life  now  not  to  hold  any 
hypocritical  parley  with  people  who  were  uncon 
genial  to  her. 

But  very  early  in  the  morning  she  stepped 
out  on  the  porch  where  Milly  was  feeding  the 
pigeons. 

"Anne!  Why  do  you  wear  your  best  merino 
in  the  morning  ?  "  she  exclaimed. 

"Quite  right,  my  child!"  cried  the  doctor. 
"That  crimson  is  a  fine  bit  of  color.  I  hunger 
for  color!  These  hills  are  so  gray  and  dull! 
But  peaceful — peaceful!  Now  the  Southern 
mountains  are  full  of  sadness  and  unrest — like 
man's  ineffectual  strivings  heavenward.  They 
depress  you.  But  in  these  hills  there  is  a  fat, 
well-fed  content;  d'ye  see  what  I  mean,  Nancy? 
Satisfied,  phlegmatic,  like  their  Dutch  owners. 
Like  our  good  Brooke  coming  yonder." 

"I  really  don't  understand  what  you  mean,;  c 
papa,"  said  Milly.  "  Southern  men  do  not  strive 
for  heaven  any  more  than  Pennsylvanians,  and 
nobody's  strivings  need  be  ineffectual  who  follows 
the  teachings  of  the  Bible  and  Prayer  Book.  As 
for  Brooke,  I  am  glad  that  one  of  the  Warrick 
family  is  well-fed  and  content." 


74 


1 '  So  am  I.  I  have  a  great  respect  for  Brooke. 
He  is  making  money  out  of  his  calves,  no  doubt. 
I  hoped  once  for  better  things  from  him  than 
money  or  calves,  but — that  fellow  has  not  a 
single  aspiration!" 

"  Much  better  without  them,"  Milly  said, 
watching  him  as  he  sprang  from  his  horse  and 
crossed  the  lawn,  waving  his  hat  and  calling 
out  that  he  was  to  go,  after  all.  The  doctor  ran 
to  meet  him,  delighted.  Nobody  could  long  be 
ill  tempered  with  the  sensible,  affectionate  fellow. 
Even  Anne's  dignity  relaxed  when  he  wrung  both 
her  hands,  declaring,  "  I  shall  be  with  you  for  two 
months — two  months !  "  She  smiled,  but  checked 
herself,  and  sat  down  beside  him  at  the  table, 
with  a  severe  face. 

"This  makes  the  thing  complete!"  said  the 
doctor.  "I  could  not  have  gone  at  any  other 
time,  you  know — but  having  just  given  up  my 
practice — you  received  my  circular  in  Ohio, 
Calhoun  ?  " 

"I  did,  and  was  much  surprised  by  it." 

"Yes.  Everybody  was  surprised.  I  may 
say  that  that  announcement  took  the  medical 
profession  unawares,  like  a  blow  between  the 
eyes.  Even  Milly,  here,  was  greatly  surprised. 
I  determined  on  the  course  after  consultation 
with  Anne,  and  at  once  issued  the  circulars.  On 
reflection,  it  does  seem,  sometimes,  as  if  I  had 
been  rash.  My  income,  outside  of  my  practice, 
is  really  very  small.  And  here  are  the  girls " 

"  But  you  thought  it  expedient  to  give  it  up  ?  " 

"No.     I  can't  say  that  Anne  and  I  considered 


75 


it  in  the  light  of  expediency  at  all" — knitting  his 
brows  anxiously.  "Ever  since  Davaine  began 
his  work  in  1850,  I  have  been  experimenting.  I 
am  a  mere  amateur  in  science,  but  Anne  thinks 
that  I  shall  become  more;  that  I  am  upon  the 
verge  of  a  great  discovery  which  will  benefit  all 
mankind.  Now,  I  could  not  experiment  and 
practice  medicine  at  once.  Just  at  the  critical 
moment  for  my  microbes  a  flood  of  neuralgic 
women  or  croupy  infants  would  set  in,  and  there 
was  an  end!" 

Mr.  Calhoun's  dark  face  flushed.  "  It  was 
Anne,  then,  who  persuaded  you  to  leave  her  and 
Milly  with  a  pittance,  in  order  that  you  might 
make  a  great  scientific  discovery!  It  was  like 
her!"  He  gave  a  short  laugh.  After  a  moment 
he  turned  to  Mildred,  his  eyes  twinkling. 

"And  what  did  you  think,  Milly,  when  you 
came  home  ?  You  pay  the  monthly  bills,  I 
think  ? " 

Milly  shot  a  warning  glance  at  her  father's 
vague,  troubled  face,  and  said  sweetly: 

"Whatever  dear  papa  decides  is  best.  And 
besides,"  lifting  her  delicate  eyebrows,  "it  was 
done.  Anne  moves  like  a  cyclone.  I  never  fight 
against  what  is  done." 

"Poor  little  thing!"  thought  Calhoun,  look 
ing  at  her  tenderly.  He  was  used  to  the  horrors 
of  coal  and  meat  bills,  and  no  money  in  the  purse. 
And  this  soft  creature  would  be  so  helpless  before 
such  trouble! 

"Papa,"  twittered  Milly's  sweet  voice,  "papa 
tells  me  that  he  hopes  to  discover  the  cholera 


76 


bacillus  and  to  inoculate  for  that  disease.  So 
when  the  cholera  comes  to  this  country,  he  will 
make  immense  sums  inoculating  for ' 

"God  bless  me!"  shouted  the  doctor.  "Do 
you  expect  me  to  take  a  fee,  child  ?  You  are 
like  Simon,  wanting  to  sell  the  gift  of  God  for 
money! " 

"  I  was  only  joking,  papa,"  she  said. 

The  doctor  hastily  changed  the  subject.  Milly 
sat  silent,  watching  him  with  a  bewildered  look, 
as  a  physician  might  a  mad  patient. 

When  they  rose  from  the  table  Anne  hurried 
out  of  the  room.  The  doctor  laid  his  hand  on 
Brooke's  arm.  "  Of  course,"  he  said,  "practical 
men  will  call  me  a  fool  in  that  matter.  But  there 
are  higher  objects  in  life  than  money-grubbing, 
thank  God!  Besides,  I  am  not  going  to  let  the 
girls  starve.  Reports  of  my  experiments  will  be 
well  paid  for — if  one  must  take  a  paying  view  of 
it!  "  His  thin  nostrils  dilated  with  a  fine  scorn. 
"I  expect  letters  to-day  from  a  publisher.  By 
the  way,  that  fellow  Peter  has  not  gone  for  the 
mail.  You'll  excuse  me,  Brooke?"  and  he  hur 
ried  away,  twitching  his  gray  mustache. 

Mr.  Calhoun  looked  at  Mildred.  "It  is  more 
serious  than  I  thought,"  he  said.  "What  can 
you  do  ?" 

Mildred  came  closer  to  him.  "It  is  not  as 
serious  as  you  suppose,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
"  Papa's  paying  practice  never  was  large.  It  was 
nearly  all  gone  now.  He  did  not  see  that,  dear 
soul;  but  /  saw  it.  He  had  plenty  of  work 
which  paid  him  nothing.  Now,  he  is  done  with 


77 


paupers.  If  he  writes  about  his  vibrios  and 
things,  it  will  bring  in  more  money  than  they  did, 
and  if  he  should  make  this  discovery,  it  would 
help  our  social  standing  outside  of  Luxborough 
enormously.  The  distinction  of  learning  pushes 
a  family  forward  almost  as  fast  as  capital."  She 
was  silent  a  moment,  her  forehead  knitted  anx 
iously.  "I  can  manage  for  a  year  or  two,"  she 
said  at  last.  "We  have  a  certain  income,  and 
the  rates  of  living  are  lower  this  year — beef  is 

but  sixteen  cents  a  pound,  and  flour "  She 

checked  off  item  after  item  on  her  little  fingers. 

"You  poor  child!"  said  Brooke. 

"Oh,  I  have  been  going  through  a  narrow 
alley  for  years!  It  costs  to  keep  in  the  front  of 
Luxborough  society,  I  can  tell  you.  To  have 
dinners  and  receptions  that  are  both  charming 
and — cheap!  What  should  I  do  without  you, 
cousin  Brooke  ?  I  run  to  you  with  all  my 
troubles!"  She  looked  up  at  him  with  pleading 
eyes. 

"Poor  little  girl!"  Calhoun  thought  her  the 
most  guileless  of  women.  She  had  the  habit  of 
carrying  the  flighty  vagaries  of .  her  father  and 
Anne  to  him,  as  one  would  carry  a  faulty  watch 
to  an  expert,  to  be  regulated.  In  fact  it  was  a 
relief  for  her  to  bare  now  and  then  her  anxious 
little  soul,  whose  movements  were  so  carefully 
hidden,  before  the  kind  eyes  of  this  reasonable 
cousin. 

"I  have  to  make  Anne's  way  in  society  now," 
she  said.  "  She  will  not  lift  a  finger  to  help 
herself." 


"  No,"  laughed  Calhoun.      "I  believe  that." 

"No.  Anne's  intellect  is  not  acute.  I  shall 
have  to  manage  without  help  for  a  year  or  two." 

"  What  help  will  you  have  then  ?  " 

Milly,  who  never  blushed,  grew  scarlet;  her 
eyes  dropped.  "  Some  door  always  opens  to 
those  who  wait,"  she  said  at  last,  smiling. 

Brooke  felt  that  a  blank  wall  had  suddenly 
risen  between  them.  He  talked  uncomfortably 
of  the  weather,  and,  after  glancing  around,  vainly 
searching  for  a  glimpse  of  a  crimson  gown,  bade 
her  good-by. 

As  soon  as  he  was  gone,  Anne  reappeared. 

"You  are  very  confidential  with  Brooke,"  she 
said.  "He  is  a  most  uncongenial  person,  I 
think." 

"He  is  very  kind;  the  only  one  of  the  War- 
rick  connection  that  I  know  who  has  common- 
sense.  He  has  just  promised  to  buy  my  beef  at 
wholesale  prices.  He  is  very  useful  to  me." 

"Yes,  he  is  quite  competent  to  buy  beef," 
said  Anne.  "But  he  will  not  be  useful  to  me. 
He  does  not  interest  me  in  the  least." 

Milly  left  the  room,  but  Anne  stood  by  the 
window.  He  was  crossing  the  lawn.  The  man 
was  utterly  unworthy!  He  had  chosen  low, 
ignoble  work.  How  strong  he  was!  What  a 
hearty,  kind  voice,  even  when  he  talked  to  the 
dogs! 

If  he  was  only  the  old  Brooke,  who  used  to 
hold  her  hand  and  comfort  her. 

She  needed  comfort  now.  She  knew  that  her 
life  was  to  be  a  total  failure. 


79 


Anne's  mother,  at  eighteen,  had  a  definite  work 
and  hope  before  her.  The  work  was  to  learn 
how  to  keep  a  house;  the  hope  was  for  a  hus 
band,  children,  and  a  house  to  keep.  But  Anne, 
at  eighteen,  belonged  to  another  generation. 
The  doctrine  that  work  for  the  public  was  the 
highest  duty  for  women  had  begun  to  creep  into 
sight  in  this  country.  She  had  been  taught  that 
a  woman  must  hunt  for  a  nobler  errand  than  to 
marry  and  bear  children.  These  were  acci 
dental,  secondary  tasks.  If  she  had  lived  now, 
she  would  probably  have  had  the  prevalent 
desire  for  notoriety  and  mistaken  it  for  an 
inspiration,  and  have  written  an  indecent  novel 
to  set  forth  a  great  truth,  or  rushed  before  the 
public  to  show  how  feebly  she  could  kick  against 
Christianity,  or  marriage,  or  the  Tyrant  Man. 

But  the  old  decorous  trammels  were  still  upon 
her,  and  her  soul  was  devout. 

"  Here  am  I,"  she  used  to  pray,  upon  her  knees, 
every  day.  "  What  wilt  thou  have  me  to  do  ?  " 

There  really  seemed  nothing  for  her  to  do. 
She  meant  to  compose  an  oratorio  which  was 
to  lift  up  all  starved  souls.  But  she  never  could 
get  through  with  her  scales  correctly.  She  began 
two  long  poems,  but  her  grammar  always  failed 
her  at  a  pinch. 

A  month  ago  the  butcher's  boy  had  sprained  his 
leg  and  was  laid  up.  Here  was  her  opportunity. 
Every  morning  she  tramped  through  the  snow  to 
his  house,  her  eyes  shining,  her  heart  thumping 
with  zeal.  "  He  that  shall  save  a  soul  from 
death,"  she  used  to  whisper  to  herself  in  awe. 


8o 


She  had  Tom  at  advantage.     He  could  not  budge, 
his  legs  being  in  splints,  while  she  lectured  him. 

But  Tom  was  cured.  He  had  brought  the 
chops  for  breakfast  just  now,  swearing  as  hard 
as  ever.  It  hurt  the  girl  like  a  blow.  Would 
God  have  none  of  her  help  ?  or  was  that  lower 
class  really  no  better  than  the  brutes  ? 

Once  she  would  have  gone  to  Brooke  to  make 
it  all  clear.  Bah!  She  turned  angrily  from  the 
window.  Was  she  to  make  a  man  her  guide  and 
confessor  because  he  had  broad  shoulders  and 
eyes  that  held  her,  and  hurt  her  as  they  held  ? 

She  went  down  to  Mildred.  The  house  was  in 
order,  the  trunks  and  satchels  piled  in  the  hall. 
Milly  was  quietly  seated  at  her  desk,  daintily 
dressed,  her  curly  hair  knotted  high  from  her 
white  neck.  She  nodded  when  Anne  asked  if 
every  thing  was  done,  and  ran  to  meet  the  doctor, 
who  came  puffing  in,  out  of  breath,  from  the  frosty 
air.  "Sit  down,  dear  papa!"  she  cooed.  "You 
are  worn  out  with  this  preparation!  Here  is  a 
cup  of  hot  bouillon." 

"I  do  feel  utterly  tired  out,"  said  the  little 
doctor,  with  a  groan  of  exhaustion. 

"But  really,  sir,"  said  Anne,  standing  bolt 
upright  before  him,  "you  and  I  have  done 
nothing.  Milly  has  had  all  the  work  and  worry. 
She  always  has  them." 

The  doctor  set  down  the  bowl  angrily. 

"  Mildred,  have  you  been  doing  menial  work  ? 
I  gave  all  necessary  orders  to  the  servants.  We 
may  be  poor;  but  the  women  of  my  family  shall 
never  labor,  please  God!" 


8i 


"  Of  course  not,  dear,"  said  Milly,  stroking 
his  grizzled  hair.  "  Et  moi,  je  suis  Papillon! 
You  shall  work,  and  I  will  be  Papillon  to  the  end 
of  the  chapter." 

He  rose,  grumbling,  and  went  out  into  the 
hall. 

"Now,  I've  no  patience  with  that!"  said 
Anne.  "You  a  butterfly!  You  carry  the  whole 
family.  You  work  like  any  grub.  Why  do  you 
fool  him  so  ?  " 

"Because!  Oh,  you  do  not  understand  men. 
They  want  to  manage — to  be  at  the  head.  Well, 
why  not  let  them  think  that  they  are  at  the 
head  ?  Papa  thinks  he  is  keeping  us  in  idleness 
as  his  ancestors  did  their  daughters.  And  he 
shall  think  it!  "  Her  pink  cheeks  paled  a  little. 
"  I  love  my  father,  Anne,  and  I'd  lie  every  hour 
of  the  day  to  make  him  happy." 

Anne  laughed,  with  a  shrug,  and  said  nothing. 

"  If  I  could  make  papa  into  an  energetic  busi 
ness  man,  then  indeed!  "said  Milly.  "But  I 
haven't  lived  twenty-two  years  without  finding 
out  that  you  must  take  folks  as  God  saw  fit 
to  make  them,  and  do  the  best  you  can  with 
them."  She  sat  down  again  to  her  accounts,  and 
presently  closed  the  book,  with  a  nod  of  satis- 
faction.  She  had  a  surplus  from  last  quarter,  in 
spite  of  the  money  flung  away  on  scientific  books, 
tubes,  and  microscopes.  It  surely  would  not  be 
long  before  her  father  would  discover  something. 
"And  I'll  see  that  he  has  his  royalty  on  the 
'  gift  of  God  ' !  "  she  thought.  "Dear  me!  "she 
said  aloud,  "what  is  papa  doing  now?  He  has 
6 


82 


not  looked  at  his  tubes  nor  written  a  line  for  two 
days.  What  is  it,  dear  ? "  she  said  affectionately, 
when  he  came  in. 

"I  am  looking — something  I  have  mislaid ): 

"  Some  of  your  notes  ?  Are  you  at  work  now 
on  your  papers  on  etching,  darling  ?  Or  on 
germs  ?" 

The  doctor  grumbled  an  answer  between  his 
teeth.  It  was,  in  fact,  "  Esmond  "  which  he  could 
not  find,  which  he  was  rereading  for  the 
twentieth  time.  "Well!"  he  sighed,  "I'll  go 
back  to  my  grind,"  and  toiled  up  the  stairway. 
Milly  called  out  that  she  would  gladly  take  notes 
for  him,  but  he  thanked  her,  and  hastily  shut  the 
door.  "  Milly's  a  sweet  girl,"  he  groaned,  "but 
she  certainly  does  drive  like  the  devil.  Where  is 
that  book  ?  " 

He  could  not  find  it,  and  appeared  again  in  the 
hall.  "Going  out,  papa  ?"  said  Mildred. 

"Going  to  church,  my  dear."  The  doctor 
polished  his  high  hat  and  drew  on  his  worn 
gloves.  "It  is  St.  Thomas's  day,  you  know  ?" 

"  No,  I  did  not  know." 

Milly  considered  herself  a  good  Christian.  No 
storm  could  keep  her  out  of  the  pew  on  Sunday 
morning,  and  she  paid  promptly  their  assessment 
of  church  dues.  But  churchgoing  on  week  days 
in  her  opinion  argued  a  disordered  intellect. 
The  doctor  bustled  about  the  room  uneasily. 

"  Daughter  ?  my  dear  ?  " 

"What  is  it,  papa  ?" 

"  The— the  collection  ?  For  the  hospital,  you 
know  ?  I  really — I  am  quite  out  of  money " 


Milly  opened  her  desk,  turned  her  few  notes 
over  wistfully,  and  at  last  gave  him,  smiling, 
a  scrip  note  for  twenty-five  cents,  kissed  him, 
and  hurried  him  out  of  the  door.  Then  the 
smile  faded. 

"  People  will  think  it  is  a  dollar,  perhaps,"  she 
reflected.  "  St.  Thomas,  indeed!  What  right 
has  the  Church  to  take  me  by  the  throat  for 
money  in  that  way  ?  As  if  people  at  my  age 
did  not  know  how  their  twenty-five  cents  for 
charity  should  go!  " 

The  doctor  trotted  down  the  muddy  hill,  keep 
ing  a  close  watch  on  his  polished  boots.  He 
began  to  plan  how  some  day  he  would  send 
turkeys  and  ice  cream  to  every  hospital  in  town. 
Other  people  could  send  meats  and  bread  on 
Christmas.  "I'll  surprise  them  with  something 
to  make  their  mouths  water  on  common  days." 
He  entered  the  church,  his  eyes  twinkling  as  he 
saw  himself  carving  the  turkeys  and  giving  out 
the  candy,  for  he  had  no  idea  of  being  anony 
mous  in  this  thing.  He  liked  to  be  praised  and 
thanked.  In  this  glow  of  benevolence  the  shin- 
plaster  in  his  pocket  felt  small  and  cold  and 
greasy. 

The  girls  stood  together  on  the  porch,  watch 
ing  him.  It  was  a  cold,  sparkling  morning,  the 
air  full  of  vigor:  the  bare  trees  glittered  with 
rime;  the  river  flashed  out  between  its  hummocks 
of  muddy  ice;  the  red  blood  showed  in  the 
maples.  The  world  to  Anne  breathed  out  a  sud 
den  new  splendor;  even  the  clouds  swept  over  the 
hills  as  if  hurrying  to  some  wider  life  beyond 


She  looked  down  to  where  the  crocuses  were 
planted  in  the  garden,  her  eyes  slowly  gathering 
tears  as  they  saw  the  raised  mound. 

"I  ought  to  have  gone  with  father,"  she  said. 
"I  thought  I'd  begin  the  Spanish  grammar 
to-day.  What  do  I  want  with  Spanish  ?  It  is 
just  this  crazy,  longing  to  do — something.  If  I 
were  a  boy,  I'd  run  away  to  sea!  " 

Milly  looked  at  her,  perplexed. 

"  I'm  a  fool!"  Anne  broke  out.  "  I  ought  to 
be  satisfied.  This  dear  old  house,  and  you  keep 
ing  every  thing  so  comfortable,  and  papa  doing 
a  great  work  for  humanity!  Very  few  women 
have  such  a  full,  happy  life."  Her  breath  came 
short;  she  stood  silent. 

Mildred  watched  her.  The  sudden  throbbing 
of  her  own  heart  choked  her.  Was  not  the  girl 
right  after  all  ?  Had  not  her  dead  mother  talked 
in  just  that  way  ?  But  to  get  money,  to  rule  in 
society 

Yet  they  had  a  happy  home.  They  had  enough. 
Her  father's  and  Anne's  wants  were  few.  Simple 
food  and  clothes,  a  few  good  books,  a  few  good 
friends.  Why  not  sit  down  with  them  in  quiet  ? 

A  sudden  loathing  of  the  sham  fashionable 
life  which  she  had  tried  to  lead  overpowered  her. 
The  imitation  Persian  rugs,  the  terrapin  made 
from  mutton,  the  Warrick  crest  emblazoned  on 
plated  dishes — all  her  frantic  efforts  to  vie  with 
the  women  yonder  who  had  millions  pressed 
upon  her;  her  soul  for  the  moment  was  filled 
with  disgust. 

But  she  rallied.     Why  should  she  not  eat  real 


terrapin  from  solid  silver,  like  these  others  ? 
"Why  should  I  wear  this  coarse  homespun?" 
Milly  demanded  of  herself  savagely.  "Velvet  is 
softer.  Why  should  Anne  and  I  creep  through 
life  afoot,  without  great  houses,  and  carriages, 
and  pearl  necklaces  and  winters  in  Paris,  if  I  can 
get  these  things  for  us  ? " 

All  the  little  envies  and  rages  of  her  life  against 
richer  women  flamed  up  in  her  breast  at  that 
moment.  But  she  answered  Anne  presently,  with 
the  usual  slow  lisp. 

"You  are  quite  right,  dear.  Of  course  we  are 
greatly  blessed.  Yet  there  are  a  few  good  things 
in  the  world  which  I  should  like  you  and  papa  to 
have.  I  mean  to  try  to  give  them  to  you." 

A  man  in  a  sleigh  at  the  moment  turned  into 
the  avenue. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  said  Anne,  seeing  her  sister's 
startled  look. 

"  One  of  Mrs.  Joyce's  men.  Something  is 
wrong." 

"I  thought  you  bade  her  good-by  this 
morning  ? " 

' '  I  did.  I  thought  I  had  arranged  every  thing, " 
said  Mildred  anxiously.  "I  left  written  direc 
tions  for  servants,  nurse — every-body." 

"Papa  tells  me,"  said  Anne,  "that  you  have 
cared  for  her  all  of  the  years  that  I  have  been 
gone  as  if  you  were  her  daughter." 

Milly's  laugh  had  a  bitter  tang.  "Not  all 

daughters  would "  she  began,  but  checked 

herself.  "She  is  very  old  and  very  ill,  and  she 
is  one  of  our  blood,  Anne,"  she  said  meekly. 


86 


Anne  suddenly  stooped  and  kissed  her.  "  You 
are  the  best  woman  that  ever  lived,  Milly!  "  she 
said  energetically.  "  My  idea  of  a  saint  is  not  a 
starved  ghost  with  lilies  and  a  halo,  but  a  plump 
little  woman  in  blue  serge." 

"Hush!"  said  Milly  sharply.  She  was  silent 
a  moment,  and  then  added  gayly,  "  Mrs.  Joyce 
owns  a  mountain  tract  in  Carolina.  She  wants 
us  to  visit  it  when  we  are  there,  and  bring  her 
Doctor  Mears's  estimate  of  its  value.  They  say," 
she  continued,  her  blue  eyes  kindling  and  the 
red  deepening  in  her  cheeks,  "that  the  moun 
tains  in  it  are  full  of  iron  and  corundum.  The 
farming  lands  in  the  valleys  are  rich:  there  are 
mineral  springs,  mica  mines.  They  have  found 
gold  and  rubies — oh!  it  is  a  principality  in  fairy 
land!  "  She  ended  with  a  shrill,  nervous  laugh. 
"Rattlesnakes  and  moonshiners  hold  it  now. 
But  one  could  easily  drive  them  off!  " 

"  Has  she  never  seen  it  ?  " 

"Seen  it?  No!  She  cannot  even  name  a 
tenth  of  the  things  that  she  owns!  Shares  in' 
silver  mines  in  Montana,  in  wheat  farms  in 
Minnesota — in  banks — in  railways —  She 

stopped,  craning  her  neck  forward,  her  eyes  half 
closed,  drawing  her  breath  with  a  whistling  sound 
through  her  narrowing  lips. 

"Milly!"  cried  Anne,  amazed.  "What  are 
you  thinking  of  ?  " 

"I?"  recovering  herself.  "Nothing.  Poor 
Mrs.  Joyce!  She  will  not  have  these  things  but 
a  year  or  two  longer.  Ah,  here  is  Paterson. 
A  note  for  me?"  She  read  it  hastily.  "I 


will  go.  Wait,  Paterson,  until  I  bring  my 
wraps." 

Anne  followed  her.      "  Is  she  worse  ?  " 

"No.  But  she  writes  in  an  odd  way.  Affec 
tionately.  She  is  never  affectionate.  She  wants 
something.  Perhaps  she  wishes  me  to  give  up 
going  with  you  ?  " 

"Mildred!  You  will  not  do  that?  You  are 
not  her  slave." 

"  Hush-h!     I  will  do  it,  if  she  asks  it." 

"Why  must  papa's  wishes  and  mine  be  sacri 
ficed  to  Mrs.  Joyce's  whims  ?  " 

"  Because "  Milly  looked  keenly  at  her 

sister.  Then  she  said  gently:  "  She  is  very  old 
and  ill,  dear.  It  is  my  duty." 

It  was  but  a  short  drive  to  the  Joyce  House. 
Mildred  entered  the  door,  and  passed  through 
lofty  halls  and  rooms  where  the  plenishing  told 
of  the  taste  and  wealth  of  many  generations. 
Mildred  knew  the  value  of  each  picture  and 
cabinet.  She  had  had  time  to  learn  it.  One 
corps  after  another  of  cooks,  footmen,  and  nurses 
in  these  years  had  found  Mrs.  Joyce's  rule  intol 
erable  and  left  her.  But  Milly  stayed.  She 
could  not  ask  for  her  wages  and  go. 

She  found  the  mistress  of  the  house  in  her 
wheel-chair  beside  her  bed.  She  was  an  old 
woman,  made  enormous  by  disease.  Her  broad 
flat  face,  from  the  same  cause,  resembled  an 
immovable  mask  of  yellow  wax,  in  which  her 
small  black  eyes  moved  incessantly,  hungry, 
challenging. 

"Are  you  worse,  cousin  ?  "  said  Milly  tenderly. 


88 


The  negro  nurse,  a  large,  powerful  woman  in 
white  cap  and  apron,  drew  back  into  a  corner, 
seizing  a  moment's  relief. 

"  No,  I'm  no  worse.  Unless  the  devil  has  pos 
session  of  me  more  entirely  than  usual,"  said 
Mrs.  Joyce,  with  a  barking  laugh,  in  which,  had 
Milly  the  ears  to  hear,  there  was  a  certain  miser 
able  pathos  below  the  ill  temper. 

"You  should  not  slander  yourself  so,"  she 
said  amiably,  with  a  perfunctory  smile.  "I 
thought  perhaps  you  meant  to  bid  me  to  stay  ? 
That  you  could  not  spare  me  ? " 

"Not  spare  you?  Bah!  There  is  nobody 
and  nothing  that  I  cannot  spare.  You  will  be 
more  useful  to  me  there  than  here,  if  you  get 
proper  estimates  of  the  capabilities  of  that  land 
from  these  men.  Go  and  bring  me  some  broth. 
No,  Jane,"  as  the  negro  started  forward.  "Miss 
Warrick  will  go."  After  the  broth  had  been 
brought  and  taken,  she  leaned  back,  yawning. 
"I  really  don't  know  why  I  sent  for  you.  You've 
done  all  you  had  to  do,  and  said  all  there  is  to 
say.  You  can  tell  Jane  again  about  that  night 
draught.  She  makes  it  too  hot." 

"I  will,  dear." 

"I'm  a  great  deal  worse,"  Mrs.  Joyce  went  on 
fretfully.  "Not  since  morning.  I  told  you 
that.  But  since  last  month.  These  queer  flut 
ters  in  my  head — I  am  certainly  growing  weaker 
every  day.  You  will  not  find  me  here,  Mildred, 
when  you  come  back." 

"  Let  me  stay  then,  darling,"  said  Mildred,  in  a 
voice  which,  in  spite  of  herself,  was  tired  and  bored. 


"Yes,  I'll  be  gone!  And  even  Jane  will  say, 
'A  good  riddance! '  ' 

"Don't  hurt  me  so,  dear  cousin,"  Milly  mur 
mured,  kneeling  before  her  and  caressing  one  of 
her  great  hands.  "Don't  talk  of  leaving  me." 
She  managed  to  force  the  water  into  her  eyes,  but 
it  was  hard  to  wring  it  out.  She  had  heard  of 
this  fast  approaching  death  for  so  many  years! 

Mrs.  Joyce  was  watching  her  keenly.  The 
cold  wintry  daylight  struck  full  on  the  rose- 
tinted  face. 

"Wait!  "  said  Mrs.  Joyce.  "Don't  go!  Stay 
where  you  are.  Mildred "  She  leaned  for 
ward,  her  eyes  searching  the  fair,  sweet  counte 
nance  upturned  to  hers  with  a  fierce  eagerness. 
Milly  was  bewildered  and  annoyed.  She  wanted 
something  from  her?  This  was  why  she  had 
sent  for  her.  But  what  ? 

It  seemed  as  if  all  of  the  years  in  which  they 
had  been  together  had  led  to  this  moment.  The 
clammy  hand  trembled  in  Milly's  firm  little 
fingers,  the  coarse  mouth  quivered.  Out  of  the 
intolerable  solitude  of  her  great  age,  without  a 
friend  and  without  a  God,  with  the  chill  of  death 
on  her,  she  turned  to  this  girl  for — what  ? 

Milly  smiled  sweetly.  "Is  there  any  thing  I 
can  do  for  you,  dear?"  she  said,  in  her  amiable 
little  pipe. 

Another  breathless  pause. 

Then  Mrs.  Joyce  pushed  her  back  roughly. 
"You?  Nothing!  There  is  nobody!  I  drove 
them  all  away  long  ago."  She  leaned  back,  clos 
ing  her  eyes,  while  Mildred  stared  perplexed,  at 


her  bald  head  and  waxed  face.  What  did  the 
woman  want  ?  In  what  had  she  failed  ? 

Mrs.  Joyce  then  gave  herself  up  to  unusual  ill 
temper,  and  during  the  next  hour  spared  Milly  no 
menial  service.  When  Jane  interposed,  declar 
ing  that  "de  wohk  wan't  fit  foh  de  young  lady," 
her  mistress  smiled  grimly. 

"The  young  lady  loves  to  wait  on  her  'dear 
cousin,' "  she  said. 

At  last  Mildred  closed  the  door  of  the  Joyce 
house  behind  her.  Her  habit  of  feeling  was 
naturally  kind  and  amiable,  but  she  would  have 
been  glad  just  then  to  see  this  old  woman  lying 
dead  before  her.  As  she  passed  the  negro  maids 
she  thought  they  eyed  her  with  contempt.  She 
grew  very  pale,  and  her  teeth  chattered  as  with 
cold. 

"I  am  a  servant,  too — unpaid!  "  she  said. 

On  the  road  Mrs.  Judge  Hayes  passed  her  in 
her  victoria,  her  men  in  livery.  Milly  bowed 
and  smiled  sweetly  and  walked  on,  still  smiling 
mechanically.  Some  day,  she  too — she  would 
not  always  trudge  in  the  dust!  Her  liveries, 
her  horses  should  take  the  lead,  in  Luxborough. 
Some  day 

But  the  price  to  pay  was  heavy — heavy! 


CHAPTER  VII 

OF  all  the  little  company  who  journeyed 
through  the  South  with  Doctor  Mears,  Anne 
found  most  keen  pleasure  in  the  adventure. 
Every-body  was  kind  to  the  shy,  dark  little 
schoolgirl,  who  was  so  ready  to  help  and  so  quick 
to  catch  a  joke.  She  was  perpetually  meeting, 
too,  remarkable  people.  Mildred,  who  never  saw 
any  thing  remarkable  in  any  body,  was  bored  by 
her  excitement,  and  Anne  soon  learned  to  keep 
it  to  herself. 

This  certainly  was  an  enchanting  world!  The 
demonstrative  Southerners  paid  such  homage  to 
her  father's  learning  and  to  Mildred's  <  ravishing 
beauty.'  Anne  felt  that  she  belonged  to  a  royal 
race;  her  heart  glowed  when  she  awoke  each 
day,  warm  and  comfortable  within  her. 

She  had  satisfaction,  too,  in  showing  Brooke 
Calhoun  her  disapproval  of  him  and  his  ignoble 
life.  True,  she  was  not  sure  that  he  perceived 
her  contempt.  Whenever  they  made  a  halt  he 
was  engrossed  with  Doctor  Mears  and  commit 
tees,  and,  she  fancied,  avoided  her.  Very  well; 
she  was  glad  that  he  knew  how  obnoxious  he  was 
to  her.  But — did  he  know  it  ?  He  ate  heartily; 
she  heard  him  singing  in  the  smoking  car  some 
times,  and  he  was  eager  enough,  examining  soils 
and  minerals,  smelling  and  tasting  them. 


She  raged  at  herself  that  she  could  not  rid  her 
mind  of  him  as  the  weeks  went  by.  Mankind 
was  a  hazy  whole  to  her.  Why  should  she  listen 
to  catch  this  one  man's  bass  voice  in  the  noisy 
throng  on  the  platforms,  or  watch  to  find  into 
which  car  he  was  going,  or  concern  herself  about 
the  ugly  bend  on  his  nose,  or  the  mole  on  his 
hand  ?  She  was  amazed  and  ashamed  within  her 
self  at  these  things.  The  whole  trend  of  her 
teaching  at  school  had  been  toward  the  great 
work  waiting  for  her  somewhere  in  the  world; 
her  own  hot  ambition  pushed  her  on  the  same 
road.  So  did  all  the  talk  of  Professor  Hears, 
and  he  talked  much  to  Anne,  on  a  wide  range 
of  subjects,  from  the  proper  treatment  of  the 
insane  to  tobacco  culture.  What  had  Brooke's 
mole  or  crooked  nose  to  do  with  these  things  ? 
Or  with  her  ? 

Nothing  at  all.  She  knew  that  so  certainly 
that,  when  she  accidentally  met  him  one  day  face 
to  face,  she  only  bowed,  not  being  able  to  speak, 
and  hurried  away,  shivering  with  sudden  cold. 

''She  treats  you,"  said  Milly,  who  was  with 
him,  "as  if  you  were  her  one  enemy  in  the 
world." 

Calhoun  nodded,  smiling  good-humoredly. 

"Are  you  to  blame?"  Milly  scanned  his  face 
sharply. 

"No!"  But  he  said  no  more,  and  soon  left 
her.  Going  into  the  car,  he  seated  himself  be 
hind  Anne,  and  for  a  long  time  watched  the 
thin  childish  profile  turned  toward  the  window. 
He  wondered  stupidly  why  she  disliked  him.  He 


93 


had  tamed  a  dog  once  that  had  taken  an  un 
reasonable  dislike  to  him.  Nothing  living  loved 
him  as  Wolf  did  now.  If — his  eyes  kindled. 

"  Next  station — Mobile!  " 

Brooke  looked  at  his  watch.  At  Mobile  he 
surely  would  find  letters  from  Ned.  He  had 
heard  but  twice  from  him,  each  time  by  wire,  ask 
ing  for  more  money.  Was  he  working  so  hard  ? 
Paints — models — these  things  were  costly.  Or 
was  he  ? — Brooke  pulled  his  coat  over  his  ears  and 
fell  into  anxious  thought,  in  which  his  little  com 
rade  had  no  share.  Mr.  Mears  came  up  to  talk 
of  the  Alabama  Black  Belt,  but  Calhoun  answered 
curtly  and  soon  left  the  car. 

Mr.  Mears  took  the  Black  Belt  to  Anne.  For 
tunately,  he  never  wanted  an  answer.  She  looked 
at  him  as  if  she  were  drinking  in  his  words. 

But  Anne  had  seen  Booth  in  Richard  the 
night  before,  and  she  was  thinking  of  how  he  had 
paid  suit  to  another  Anne — of  his  fierce  vehe 
mence,  his  passion — abasing  himself  before  her. 

"I  could  have  loved  a  hunchback  and  mur 
derer,  if  he  had  wooed  me  so.  It  was  worth 
while  to  be  a  woman  then,"  thought  Anne,  lift 
ing  her  head  haughtily.  "But  now  men  think  of 
their  cows  or  fertilizers  for  twenty-four  hours  of 
the  day,  and  of  a  woman  about  ten  minutes." 

Brooke  found  no  letters  at  Mobile.  But  his 
relief  was  great  when  one  of  the  first  men  whom 
.he  met  at  the  Battle  House  proved  to  be  a 
cousin  of  Edward's — John  Soude,  from  Louisiana. 
Soude  was  a  tall,  robust  young  fellow,  evidently 


94 


used  to  fill  a  very  big  place  in  a  very  little  world. 
His  broad  negro  inflections  made  his  slow  talk 
almost  unintelligible  to  the  Pennsylvanian. 

"Edward  Calhoun  ?  Why,  certainly.  He  is 
recuperating  now,  sir,  at  Le  Reve  des  Eaux,  our 
old  plantation,  on  the  Gulf.  A  lee-tie  tired — 
ennuyeux — en  voila  tout !  He  will  be  well  taken 
care  of,  I  assure  you.  My  father,  General  Gas- 
pard  Soude,  is  there,  and  my  cousin  Theresa,  of 
whom  you  no  doubt  have  heard.  Probably  the 
most  charming  woman  in  the  South.  And  you 
are  his  brother?"  shaking  both  his  hands. 
"You  must  meet  all  my  friends  in  Mobile!  " 

"Is  Edward  at  work?  Painting?"  asked 
Calhoun  anxiously. 

"Painting?  Possibly — if  that  amuses  him. 
But  the  shooting  at  the  plantation  is  fine.  The 
general,  no  doubt,  will  urge  that  upon  him." 

"All  right!  "  said  Brooke.  He  was  much  com 
forted.  Mr.  Soude,  seeing  him  smile,  insisted 
upon  drinking  some  very  black  brandy  at  once  to 
Edward's  health. 

The  Northern  guests  received  much  hospitality 
from  the  best  people  in  Mobile;  more  effusive 
perhaps  because  of  the  memories  of  the  war, 
which  were  still  bitter  and  poignant.  Balls 
and  dinner  parties  were  given  to  them,  and 
young  Soude"  met  them  at  many  of  his  friends' 
houses. 

"  I  am  glad  to  do  it,"  he  said  to  Louis  Cho- 
teaud,  a  former  brother-at-arms  who  was  with 
him.  "I  never  met  a  Yankee,  except  in  the 
field  or  in  gambling  dens  at  Natchez,  until 


95 


Edward  Calhoun  came.  I  should  like  to  see 
what  the  decenter  class  in  the  North  is  like." 

A  day  or  two  later  he  told  M.  Choteaud  that 
he  was  much  impressed  by  Doctor  Warrick. 
"  He  is  a  gentleman,  Louis,  wherever  he  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  born.  I  shrewdly  suspect  that 
he  is  one  of  the  foremost  of  Northern  statesmen. 
Why,  sir,  he  repudiates  carpet-baggers!  He  is 
going  to  induce  his  friends  to  invest  in  Southern 
industries." 

"I  should  guess  from  his  costume,"  said 
Choteaud  dryly,  "that  it  is  his  friends'  capital 
which  he  will  invest." 

Mr.  Soude,  who  was  a  big,  slow  man,  stared 
down,  bewildered,  at  his  companion.  Louis'  sharp 
little  gibes  always  amazed  him.  The  man's 
wizened  face  actually  grew  like  a  ferret's  when  he 
so  far  forgot  himself. 

"  I  fail  to  perceive,"  said  John  gravely,  "  how 
the  fact  of  his  position  in  life  is  affected  by  his 
clothes  or  his  money." 

"Ah-h?  We  shall  not  quarrel  about  him. 
You  always  had  queer  likings.  I  did  not  expect 
you  to  adopt  a  comrade  of  that  species,  however. 
O/ief"  with  a  suspicious  laugh.  "He  has  two 
daughters — not  ugly!  " 

"  I  did  not  observe  them,"  said  John. 

"So  much  the  better!  "  thought  Louis.  Any 
adventurer  could  impose  upon  poor  credulous 
John.  He  was  a  child — a  lamb !  Yet  Choteaud, 
with  this  pitying  contempt,  had  an  awed  respect 
for  his  friend  as  a  man  of  genius.  There  were 
thousands  of  men  who  could  fight  for  the  South; 


but  he  knew  only  one  who  could  write  for  her. 
He  had  been  going  about  Mobile  for  days,  telling 
every-body  that  John  was  the  author  of  those 
brilliant  papers  now  appearing  in  the  Picayune, 
descriptive  of  the  hunting  and  fishing  in  the  Gulf 
States.  "The  finest  bits  of  word-painting,  sir, 
in  our  literature!  "  He  was  especially  pleased  to 
trumpet  these  masterpieces  to  the  Northerners. 
The  North  had  been  insolent  long  enough  with 
its  Irvings  and  its  Hawthornes!  Now  it  would 
be  forced  to  recognize  men  of  real  genius  in  the 
South  land! 

That  very  afternoon  Louis  met  Doctor  Warrick 
and  his  daughters  driving  out  to  Spring  Hill,  and 
eagerly  joined  them.  He  soon  managed  to  tell 
the  doctor  of  Mr.  Soude's  pleasure  in  his  liberal 
sentiments. 

"Soude?"  said  the  doctor  eagerly.  "I 
remember!  Tall  dark  young  fellow,  with  a 
tremendous  laugh  ?  And  he  is  ready  to  bury  the 
hatchet,  eh?  Good!  It  only  needs  the  combi 
nation  of  a  few  leading  men  to  bring  the  country 
into  peace  and  prosperity.  I  am  working  to  that 
end,  Monsieur  Choteaud! "  And  the  little  man 
puffed  and  frowned  anxiously. 

"  John  Soude's  aid  will  be  of  immense  impor 
tance  in  calming  the  South,"  said  Louis,  pushing 
his  horse  closer.  "A  man  of  great  power,  sir!" 
touching  his  forehead.  "  The  Soudes  have  been 
a  ruling  family  since  the  days  of  Bienville.  Men 
of  master  minds  and  enormous  estates!"  cried 
Louis,  in  crescendo. 

At  these  words  Milly  suddenly  leaned  forward. 


97 


listening  eagerly;  and  M.  Choteaud  pranced  to 
her  side  of  the  carriage  to  pour  forth  laudations 
of  his  friend,  whose  verses  Mildred  praised 
warmly. 

At  the  next  turn  of  the  road  Fate  brought  them 
up  against  the  poet,  who  was  on  horseback.  M. 
Choteaud  proudly  presented  him  to  Miss  Warrick. 

The  carriage  had  stopped  before  a  mass  of 
live-oaks.  Before  this  sombre  background, 
John  saw  a  small  face  of  dazzling  fairness  look 
ing  up  timidly  to  his  own.  Mildred's  lap  was 
heaped  with  pink  blossoms.  John  spoke  but 
a  word  or  two,  and  rode  on.  But  the  pale, 
scented  flowers,  and  the  meek  face  went  with 
him. 

He  began  to  think  of  the  sweet  dunce,  Cor 
delia,  and  of  hidden  snow-drops.  These  were 
the  kind  of  ideas  out  of  which  he  pieced  his 
poetry,  for  the  newspapers. 

"That  scared  little  girl  is  very  sweet,"  said 
Louis  presently.  "But  I  like  a  woman  with 
more  knowledge  of  the  world.  Her  sister, 
now  ? " 

"  Was  there  another  ?  "  said  John. 

"Mildred,"  said  Anne,  when  the  men  left 
them,  "how  could  you  praise  those  verses? 
They  were  pure  bombast,  and  you  know  it." 

"Hush-h,  Anne.  No,  I  don't  think  they  were 
all  bombast.  And  if  I  did,  I  need  not  shout  it 
out  on  the  highway.  They  were  pretty  imita 
tions  of  Poe  !  " 

"Poe  !     Cannot  the  man  see  that  Poe's  work 


98 


was  done  once  and  for  all  ?  Poe  could  not 
found  a  school." 

"Oh,  my  dear!  Somebody  will  hear  you!" 
She  glanced  at  the  hedges.  "  Mr.  Poe  was  a  man 
of  great  ability.  He  could  have  found  a  school, 
I'm  sure,  if  he  had  wished  to  teach." 

Anne  laughed.  "And  as  for  this  man  Soude," 
she  said,  "I  have  read  his  letters.  They  are 
turgid  and  commonplace.  Yet  they  call  him  the 
Scott  of  Louisiana." 

"Very  well,  dear,"  said  Milly  soothingly. 

"No,  it  is  not  well  at  all!  How  are  the 
Southern  people  to  have  a  literature  if  they  set  up 
such  cheap  gods  as  that  ?  They  fall  in  adoration 
before  every  man  or  woman  who  writes  tawdry 
verses  as  they  might  before  a  saint  who  worked 
miracles." 

"  Don't  be  blasphemous.  Why  are  you  so 
aggressive  with  these  people  ?  They  have  been 
so  hospitable !  We  have  hardly  had  to  pay  for 
a  meal  since  we  came  to  Mobile.  Yet  you  differ 
with  every  Southerner  you  meet  on  every  point." 

"  Why  do  they  differ  with  me  ?  Can't  they  see 
what  is  right  ? "  She  checked  herself  to  watch 
the  off  horse,  while  her  father  jerked  and  scolded, 
growing  red. 

"Give  him  the  whip,  papa!"  shouted  Anne. 
"He'll  have  us  in  the  bay!  Here,  I'll  take  the 


reins 


"  Keep  your  seat!  "  thundered  the  doctor. 

Anne  seized  the  whip  and  gave  the  vicious 
brute  the  needed  cut.  When  he  trotted  quietly 
again,  the  doctor  said,  in  an  aggrieved  tone,  "I 


99 


know  I  am  an  ignorant  old  man  in  your  opinion. 
But  I  did  think  I  knew  how  to  drive.  These  old 
Southern  statesmen,"  he  added,  with  a  forced 
laugh,  "  consult  me  about  the  management  of  the 
country,  but  you  won't  trust  me  to  drive  you  to 
town." 

"Papa,  dear,  we  would  trust  you  to  drive  us 
to  the  world's  end!  "  cried  Milly  anxiously. 

"I  wouldn't,  when  he  pulls  the  off  horse  like 
that,"  said  Anne  doggedly.  There  was  a  long 
silence  after  that.  But  presently  the  doctor 
glanced  back,  and  Anne,  her  face  scarlet  and  the 
tears  starting,  scrambled  up  to  the  front  seat 
and  whispered  to  him,  crying  and  kissing  his 
hand.  In  a  few  minutes  the  doctor's  face  was 
beaming,  and  they  both  were  laughing  as  usual  at 
their  own  bad  jokes. 

Milly,  leaning  back,  watched  them,  wondering 
why,  with  these  incessant  squabbles,  they  were 
such  close  comrades.  She,  who  never  broke  the 
peace,  was  outside  of  the  alliance.  The  gentle 
little  woman  had  found  Anne  a  heavy  burden  to 
carry  on  this  journey.  Travelling  had  brought 
out  her  crude  opinions  and  her  dogmatic  cer 
tainty  that  she  was  always  right.  Milly  thought 
it  hard  that  her  father  should  prefer  this  uncom 
fortable  child  as  a  companion  to  the  daughter 
who  for  eight  years  had  carried  the  family  on 
her  poor  little  shoulders. 

Milly's  brain  suffered  a  strange  revolution  that 
afternoon.  She  suddenly  loathed  this  eternal 
plotting  and  managing!  She  felt  strangely  alone 
and  neglected.  Some  women  did  not  need  to 


100 


work,  or  plan,  or  think  of  social  success  or  money. 
They  simply  sat  tranquil,  and  were — loved. 

She  leaned  back  upon  the  cushions  as  they 
sped  swiftly  on.  On  one  side  the  air  stirred  the 
trees  drowsily,  on  the  other  the  bright  wide  deeps 
of  water  softly  lapped  the  beach:  the  sunshine 
held  all  in  its  warm  grasp.  Through  it,  there 
came  to  her  again  the  flash  of  dark  eyes,  startled, 
enraptured  by  the  sight  of  her — her.  There  was 
in  them  the  promise  of  something  which  life  never 
yet  had  given  her.  Milly's  brain  was  sharp  and 
practical,  addicted  to  dealing  with  bills  and  other 
small  hard  facts.  But  this  new  fantasy  warmed 
her  shrewd  thoughts  as  the  golden  sunshine  did 
the  hard  pebbles  yonder.  She  lay  back  silent,  a 
smile  on  her  half  open  lips,  her  soft  blue  eyes 
moist.  When  Anne  spoke  to  her,  the  voice 
sounded  far-off.  Some  power,  delicate  and  more 
vague  than  any  dream,  held  her.  Could  they 
not  leave  her  with  it,  in  peace  ? 

As  they  neared  the  city  the  doctor  saw  the 
lank  figure  of  Professor  Hears  racing  on  before 
them,  his  light  hair  flying  in  the  wind. 

"  Hello,  Hears!"  he  called.  "Let  us  drive 
you  into  town.  Here  is  a  seat  beside  my 
daughter." 

Hildred  roused  herself,  and  made  room  for 
him  beside  her.  The  professor  settled  himself, 
well  pleased.  Anne  was  his  companion,  but  he 
approved  of  the  elder  Hiss  Warrick.  He  felt  her 
guileless,  transparent  character  to  be  very  sweet 
and  restful.  She  was  most  anxious  now  to  hear 
about  his  work. 


101 


"  Yes,"  he  responded  to  her  soft  questionings, 
"I  talked  to-day  with  several  influential  men; 
effectively,  I  hope.  But  capitalists  are  as  shy  of 
philanthropic  schemes  here  as  in  the  North." 

"There  is  a  Mr.  Soude  here,"  timidly  sug 
gested  Milly.  "  I  hear  that  he  has  a  wide  news 
paper  influence,  and  large  property.  Is  that 
true  ?  " 

"  John  Soude,  you  mean.  He  could  be  of  use 
in  Louisiana!  But  that  is  too  far  South  for  a 
colony.  The  climate — "  and  he  discussed  climate 
in  every  phase  while  Milly  listened  with  rapt 
attention. 

When  he  had  ended,  she  said,  "  Mr.  Soude's 
plantations  are  in  Louisiana  then  ?  Cotton  or 
sugar  ?  I  have  heard  that  his  wealth  is  some 
thing  fabulous  ? " 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  of  buying  land  there.  My 
field  is  in  Kentucky." 

"Assuredly,  the  first  colony  must  be  in  Ken 
tucky.  Oh,  if  it  only  succeeds!"  clasping  her 
little  hands.  "Then  you  think,"  after  a  pause, 
"that  the  reports  of  this  Mr.  Soude's  wealth  are 
exaggerated  ? " 

"No,  I  fancy  not.  The  plantations  are  on  the 
Gulf.  There  was  a  Victor  Soude,  a  brilliant 
lawyer  in  New  Orleans.  I  knew  him  at  the 
Virginia  springs.  He  ranked  as  a  Croesus  then. 
He  was  killed  in  the  war,  I  believe,  and  this  lad 
is  his  son  or  nephew — heir  probably,  in  either 
case." 

Miss  Warrick's  eyes  were  wandering  indiffer 
ently.  "Now,"  she  cried,  when  he  paused, 


102 


"tell  me  what  men  you  can  count  on  in 
Mobile." 

They  talked  earnestly  until  they  reached  the 
Battle  House.  The  professor  then  rushed  away 
to  find  Major  Patton  and  to  ask  him  to  remain  in 
Mobile  another  week. 

"Why,  this  morning  you  were  eager  to  push 
on !  What  has  happened  ?  " 

"Nothing.  But  it  has  been  suggested  to  me 
that  Mobile  will  probably  be  the  largest  seaport 
in  the  South,  and  that  I  can  find  employment  here 
in  the  future  for  many  workmen.  I  have  still 
much  to  do  here." 

That  night  Doctor  Warrick  told  his  daughters 
that  Professor  Mears  would  detain  the  party  a 
week  longer  in  Mobile. 

"  I  thought  he  would,"  said  Milly  quietly. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DURING  the  week  that  followed,  Mr.  Soude 
met  Miss  Warrick  at  one  or  two  dances.  The 

(  .rr^Vv 

plump  little  girl  was,  he  decided,  vapid  and  com 
monplace.  In  fact,  John  liked  bold  effects.  He 
adored  Hugo  and  Dumas;  he  used  coarse  per 
fumes;  he  cared  for  no  music  but  that  of  a  brass 
band;  he  often  warmed  his  black  costume  with  a 
red  necktie  or  purple  fez  and  nodded  delighted 
approval  as  he  looked  in  the  glass.  Naturally  he 
preferred  picturesque  women;  poseurs  who  could 
take  and  hold  the  centre  of  the  stage.  However, 
he  danced  once  with  Mildred  and  found  her  light 
in  motion  as  a  bird.  But  he  saw  that  she  was 
too  timid  and  too  young  to  make  her  way  among 
these  experienced  matrons  and  maids  with  whom 
he  flirted  habitually,  whispering  dangerous  noth 
ings  to  each,  his  blood  rising  for  the  moment  hot 
and  thick  in  his  veins. 

"Why  does  that  little  Warrick  girl  muffle  her 
self  up  to  the  chin?"  M.  Choteaud  said  one 
evening. 

"  Damnation !  You  would  not  have  her  undress 
like  these  others! "  cried  John.  It  was  as  if 
Louis  had  asked  a  child  to  sing  an  indecent 
song. 

"The  woman  is  nothing  to  you.  Why  do  you 
attack  me  about  her  ? "  retorted  Louis. 


104 


Soude*  did  not  know  why.  It  was  a  mere  mascu 
line  instinct.  She  was  so  helpless — so  altogether 
a  woman. 

But  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  dance  with  her 
again;  and,  if  she  had  left  Mobile,  he  would  have 
forgotten  her  as  soon  as  he  would  a  dog  that  he 
had  noticed  kindly. 

In  fact  John  was  not  a  marrying  man,  nor  a 
man  about  whom  there  is  any  story  worth  the 
telling.  Some  of  his  comrades  in  the  New 
Orleans  clubs  were,  as  one  might  say,  perpetual 
heroes.  That  was  their  metier.  Dort,  for 
example — all  the  world  knew  of  Dort's  hopeless 
passion;  and  Sennele,  once  a  priest  and  now  an 
atheist;  and  D'Orveto,  fighting  his  way  up 
against  an  incurable  disease.  These  men  played 
out  their  dismal  tragedy  of  life  in  full  view  of  the 
town,  cheered  by  its  sympathy  or  applause. 

But  John  Soude  had  no  play  to  play.  He  was 
as  idle,  happy-go-lucky  a  fellow  as  could  be  found 
in  the  Gulf  States.  He  had  never  been  troubled 
by  a  religious  doubt  in  his  head  nor  a  keen  emo 
tion  in  his  heart.  Even  as  a  motherless  boy, 
running  wild  with  the  negroes  over  the  planta 
tion,  he  had  borne  the  diseases  and  discomforts 
of  childhood  with  the  lazy  indifference  of  a  good- 
humored  dog,  an  indifference  which  might  grow 
out  of  high  courage  or  brutal  stupidity. 

As  for  love — "I  had  a  thousand  grand  passions 
when  I  was  young,"  he  was  used  to  say.  "But 
I  am  thirty-six  now.  I  love  all  women  alike." 

Nothing  could  make  him  see  ugly  teeth  or 
tricky  ways  in  any  woman.  At  the  Mardi  Gras 


105 


balls  he  was  just  as  likely  to  waltz  with  old  fat 
Miss  Lachean  as  with  one  of  the  debutantes. 

Sometimes  indeed,  after  dinner,  he  would  tell 
the  story  of  his  grandfather,  Mad  Jean  Latouche, 
who,  finding  that  the  woman  he  worshipped  was 
listening  to  another  lover,  picked  her  up  one  day 
as  she  was  walking  in  the  street  in  Charleston, 
threw  her  into  his  gig,  drove  to  the  house  of  the 
nearest  clergyman,  called  him  out,  and  with  one 
pistol  at  the  head  of  the  parson  and  another  at 
the  head  of  his  bride,  then  and  there  married 
her. 

"  And  I  am  told  that  it  was  a  divinely  happy 
marriage,"  John  would  say,  thoughtfully.  "  He 
adored  her,  gentlemen." 

Something  in  this  story  always  fired  his  slow 
blood.  If  he  could  find  an  exquisite  creature  like 
that  and  win  her  in  such  fashion!  Yet  when  his 
cousin,  Miss  Soude,  once  asked  him  the  truth  of 
this  old  story,  he  denied  that  he  knew  it.  It 
was  not  fit  for  her  pure  ears! 

Sometimes  he  would  ruminate  vaguely  on  the 
chance  of  his  marrying  that  rich  Cuban  widow,  or 
a  certain  stout  heiress  whom  he  knew  in  Savan 
nah.  If  he  did  that,  he  could  always  smoke  the 
best  cigars,  and  the  dear  old  general  could  stop 
the  mouths  of  that  hungry  pack  of  tradesmen. 

But  he  was  always  ashamed  when  these  mean 
fancies  nibbled  at  his  ordinary  calm  content,  and 
regarded  them  as  vulga'r  baits  of  the  devil;  just 
as  he  was  sometimes  tempted  to  call  for  made 
drinks  instead  of  brandy  or  whiskey  straight. 

It  was  from  M.   Choteaud  that  Miss   Warrick 


1 06 


gradually  obtained  the  facts  of  Soude's  history. 
He  also  gave  her  copies  of  John's  letters  in  the 
Picayune.  She  read  one  of  them  aloud  to  Anne 
one  morning — the  account  of  the  sudden  death 
of  a  child  in  a  train,  but  broke  down  and  could 
not  finish  it. 

Anne  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  Milly's 
tears  were  always  ready.  But  her  sister  had 
never  seen  her  sob  in  this  fashion.  She  took  the 
paper  and  finished  the  story,  amused  at  the  faulty 
grammar.  But  she  too  felt  a  lump  in  her  throat 
before  she  had  finished  it. 

There  was  a  lawn  party  that  afternoon  and  a 
dance  at  night  at  one  of  the  large  houses  upon 
the  bay.  Mr.  Soude  arrived  late,  and  found  that 
some  of  the  guests  had  wandered  out  upon*  the 
half-ruined  galleries,  and  to  the  lawns  sloping 
down  to  the  beach.  The  sun  was  hidden  by  a 
silvery  fog,  a  damp  wind  stirred  the  blossoms  of 
the  magnolias  and  the  veils  of  gray  moss  upon 
the  trees.  There  was  a  hush  in  the  air,  a  sad 
significance  of  decay  under  all  the  soft  splendor, 
which  touched  Soude,  who  was  easily  moved  by 
the  moods  of  nature.  He  wandered  down  alone 
to  the  beach.  In  the  far  distance  the  heaving 
plane  of  water  was  covered  by  dull  mists,  out  of 
which  white  sails  flashed  and  disappeared.  Sud 
denly  he  started  forward. 

A  woman  was  walking  out  upon  a  rotten  pier, 
her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  distant  sails,  unconscious 
that  the  timbers  were  crumbling  beneath  her. 
The  water  below  was  deep  and  slimy. 

John    climbed    out    on    a  beam   below    her. 


107 


"  Don't  look  down!"  he  shouted.  "Give  me 
your  hand !  Quick !  There !  " 

He  caught  her  just  as  the  timbers  fell  with  a 
crash  into  the  water. 

"Why,  bless  my  soul!  Miss  Warrick!  What 
on  earth — ?  Don't  cry!  You  are  safe.  You  poor 
child!"  He  seated  her  and  stood  between  her 
and  the  house.  He  wanted  to  take  care  of  the 
poor  little  thing  himself.  He  could  hardly  keep 
from  stroking  her  soft  fair  hair. 

At  last  she  controlled  herself  and  looked  up. 
"  You  have  saved  my  life." 

"Nonsense!  Nothing  of  the  kind!  You  might 
have  been  a  little  wet."  He  dropped  down  on 
the  grass  beside  her.  There  was  an  awkward 
silence.  He  was  thinking,  as  he  watched  her 
askance,  "  She  thinks  I  saved  her  life.  And  so 
I  did.  Very  cleverly  done,  too,  John,  my  boy!  " 
He  said  aloud,  formally,  "  I  hardly  hoped  to 
meet  you  again,  Miss  Warrick." 

"  No  ;  but  I  hoped  to  see  you."  She  was  mak 
ing  a  great  effort  to  control  her  voice :  her  little 
clenched  hands  rested  on  her  knees,  her  anxious 
eyes  were  fixed  on  his.  "  There  is  something  I 
wish  you  to  do,  Mr.  Soude.  Very  important." 

"  Me  ?  Now,  what  can  that  be  ?  "  He  smiled 
kindly  down  on  her  upturned  face.  What  a 
sweet,  babyish  creature  she  was! 

"I  wish  you,"  she  said  earnestly,  "to  come  to 
the  old  town  in  Pennsylvania  where  we  live.  To 
write  about  it.  It  is  an  historic  place.  And  the 
hills  are  very  beautiful.  I  have  read  your  letters, 
Mr.  Soude." 


loS 


"  Oh!  That  nonsense!  "  The  big  fellow  grew 
hot  from  head  to  foot.  He  shouted  out  a  laugh, 
and  instantly  was  dumb  and  solemn. 

"  Oh,  yes!  I  have  read  them,"  said  Milly,  with 
a  grave  little  nod.  "  Why  should  not  our  hills 
be  given  a  place  in  literature?  That  last  letter, 
Mr.  Soude!  That  story  of  the  baby!  I  used  to 
think  the  death  of  Paul  Dombey  the  finest  thing 
in  the  English  language,  until— that  dear  baby!  " 
She  stopped,  with  a  sob. 

John  shuffled  uneasily.  His  heart  gave  great 
thumps  of  delight.  "Ah,  that  little  incident?" 
he  managed  to  say  with  dignified  composure. 
"It  was  true.  Any  body  could  have  described 
it." 

"  Any  body  ?  "  She  turned  her  mild,  reproach 
ful  eyes  on  him.  Tears  stood  in  them.  A 
woman's  tears  always  unnerved  Soude,  and  it 
was  his  own  genius  that  had  drawn  these  from 
the  child.  Child— yes!  But  what  an  intellect 
she  had!  What  unerring  perception!  He  stared 
at  the  drop  of  salt  water  creeping  down  into  her 
round  chin.  Some  day  a  man  would  kiss  the 
tears  from  her  sweet  face,  he  thought,  a  strange 
tremor  passing  through  him. 

Soude  had  always  spoken  of  his  work  with 
a  shy  sensitiveness.  He  was  not  sure  whether  he 
had  earned  immortality  or  only  made  a  fool  of 
himself. 

But  now  while  Milly  kept  up  a  gentle  patter  of 
questions,  certainty  blazed  upon  him.  This  fire 
within  him  was  genius!  He  stood  upon  the  same 
plane  as  Shakspeare,  Gayarre,  Christian  Reid! 


log 


And  this  innocent  girl  had  been  the  first  to 
detect  it. 

Do  not  set  John  down  as  a  vain  fool.  He  had 
put  into  these  poor  letters  and  verses  his  secret 
thoughts — his  best.  The  woman  who  under 
stood  them  was  no  alien.  She  trod  a  hidden 
path  straight  to  his  heart. 

They  walked  side  by  side,  for  a  long  time, 
under  the  live-oaks.  The  sunset  threw  a  daffodil 
glow  above  the  mist;  at  their  side  the  waves 
muttered  to  them,  like  cautious  whispers:  from 
a  ship  far  out  on  the  bay  came  the  melancholy 
notes  of  a  French  horn. 

Mr.  Soude  was  skilled  in  flirtation  with  all 
kinds  of  women,  from  school-girls  to  hardened 
widows.  But  it  did  not  once  occur  to  him  that 
this  Northern  girl  could  be  complimented  or 
wooed.  He  felt  such  a  strange  respect  for  her 
that,  when  he  talked  to  her,  his  tongue  grew  stiff; 
his  arms  and  legs  lumbering  and  heavy. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THERE  was  to  be  a  dance  in  the  evening,  and 
the  girls  flocked  to  their  chambers  to  change 
their  gowns.  Doctor  Warrick  stopped  Anne  as 
she  hurried  past  him  in  the  hall. 

"David  Plunkett  has  come,"  he  said  anxiously. 
"  I  met  him  at  the  hotel.  He  heard  we  were  in 
Mobile,  and  ran  down  from  New  York  on  his 
special  car." 

"Just  what  one  would  expect  from  him,"  said 
Anne  angrily.  "  I  shall  not  tell  Milly  that  he  is 
here.  Let  her  have  her  dance  in  comfort" 

"  Why  should  David  make  her  dance  uncom 
fortable  ?  If  a  woman  dislikes  the  presence  of 
a  man,  she  can  easily  dismiss  him,"  said  her 
father. 

"Yes.  But  Milly "  Anne  checked  her 
self.  She  was  not  at  all  sure  that  Milly  would 
deal  so  promptly  with  the  young  man  whose 
wealth  gave  him  such  large  space  in  the  world. 

She  passed  on  to  her  room.  Milly  joined 
her,  and  sweetly  declining  the  aid  of  the  chatter 
ing  mulatto  maids,  shut  the  door  upon  them. 

"They  would  tell  all  Mobile  that  we  have  no 
maid  of  our  own,"  she  said. 

"  What  if  they  did  ?  "  said  Anne.  "  But  I  do 
not  want  them.  I  never  wish  to  see  one  of 
the  color  again."  She  perched  herself  lazily  in 


Ill 


the  window-seat,  while  Milly  rapidly  unpacked 
their  satchel. 

"I  had  great  hopes  of  the  negroes  before  I 
came  South,"  continued  Anne.  "I  thought  of 
teaching  in  the  freedmen's  schools  at  Port 
Royal You  did  not  know  that,  Mildred?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  did.     Pins?     Yes,  here  they  are." 

"I  am  wretchedly  disappointed  in  them,"  con 
tinued  Anne.  "A  human  being  just  given  free 
dom  ought  to  be  full  of  the  highest  ambition. 
But  a  good  fat  meal  and  finery — that  is  all  they 
think  of." 

"Really,  you  have  not  spoken  to  a  dozen  of 
them  since  you  came  to  the  South,"  said  Mildred 
placidly.  "  When  you  were  twelve,  you  intended 
to  go  out  to  India,  as  a  missionary.  You  wanted 
to  see  the  temples  and  queer  dresses.  A  good 
many  other  nervous  women  want  adventure  in  a 
picturesque  country  and  think  it  is  a  Heavenly 
Call  to  preach  the  Gospel,"  she  said  with  a  laugh, 
shaking  out  her  snowy  ball-dress.  "Papa  told 
me  yesterday  that  you  wanted  to  go  into  the 
freedmen's  schools.  He  was  miserable  enough. 
But  I  said,  *  Don't  worry.  She  has  been  plan 
ning  heroic  flights  since  she  was  born.  But 
when  the  time  comes,  down  she  falls  flat.' " 

Anne  laughed,  but  said  nothing.  If  she  had 
fallen  when  she  had  tried  to  rise,  it  was  the  fall 
that  hurt  her,  not  Milly's  little  gibes.  How 
could  poor  little  Milly  understand? 

The  next  moment  she  jumped  from  her  perch. 
"Just  look  at  the  carving  of  this  bed,"  she  cried 
excitedly.  "And  this  crucifix!  I  was  told  that 


112 


the  mistress  of  this  house  six  years  ago  was  the 
owner  of  a  thousand  slaves.  She  has  not  a  dollar 
.now.  I  wish  papa  would  spend  the  winter  in 
Mobile.  I  love  these  Southern  women — they  are 
so  thoroughbred,  so  helpless.  I  know  I  could 
teach  them  our  practical  ways." 

"Anne,  you  have  not  brought  the  waist  of 
your  dress!"  interrupted  Milly,  in  dismay. 

Anne  ran  to  her,  held  up  the  crimson  skirt 
and  stared  at  it.  "Too  bad!  Too  bad!"  she 
said,  her^lips  quivering.  "Well,  I  don't  care 
for  the  dance.  I'll  sit  here  until  you  are  ready 
to  go  home." 

"Nonsense!  Wait,  let  me  think,"  said  Miss 
Warrick.  She  did  not  scold.  She  never  had 
scolded  in  her  life,  and  besides,  nothing  that 
Anne  did  ever  surprised  her. 

"That  black  silk  fits  you  exquisitely,"  she 
said  anxiously.  "  What  a  noble  figure  you  have, 
child!"  She  passed  her  hand  caressingly  over 
her  sister's  shoulders.  "  If  I  had  any  waist  at 
all !  Sit  down,  I  will  put  your  hair  into  high  puffs. 
And  for  your  neck " 

Anne  pulled  out  some  fresh  linen. 

"Collar  and  cuffs  at  a  dance!  Absurd!  I 
brought  that  old  lace  fichu.  I  can  arrange  it  as 
a  high  ruff.  You  will  look  like  Mary  Stuart." 

Anne  smiled  complacently  into  the  glass.  She 
was  quite  willing  to  look  like  Mary  Stuart. 
Milly  skilfully  rolled  her  dark  hair  about  her 
face  with  many  affectionate  pats  and  admiring 
nods. 

But— the  lace  ? 


She  had  intended  that  lace  to  give  the  final 
touch  of  meaning  to  her  own  clinging  drapery. 
So  much  might  depend  on  her  looks,  to-night  of 
all  nights!  She  finished  her  work,  and  surveyed 
her  sister's  head  with  genuine  admiration. 

"Ah,  you  dear  thing!"  she  said,  kissing  her. 
"  You  can  wear  the  linen  collar,  after  all,  Anne." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Anne,  pinning  it  on  awry. 

Milly  was  dumb  with  anxiety  as  she  dressed 
herself.  Anne  watched  her  with  amazement 
rushing  nervously  about,  for  Miss  Warrick  was  a 
reticent  woman,  even  in  her  motions.  No  human 
being  ever  had  guessed  what  Milly  thought  of 
Milly.  She  was  dissatisfied  with  herself  now. 
She  knotted  the  curly  hair  high,  and  lowered  it 
to  her  neck.  She  trailed  roses  over  her  breast 
and  threw  them  away.  At  last  she  lifted  the 
candles  high  and  breathlessly  scanned  herself  in 
the  mirror. 

"Ah!  how  stout  and  vulgar!"  she  said, 
shivering. 

Mrs.  Dane  tapped  at  the  door.  "Come,  girls! 
Oh,  my  dear!"  surveying  Milly  with  delight. 
"You  certainly  are  an  exquisite  creature,  Mil 
dred.  Heavens,  Anne!  Black  and  linen!  Why 
did  you  let  her  make  herself  such  an  object  ?" 

"  Oh,  come!  Let  us  go  down.  I  will  explain 
presently,"  Milly  said,  running  toward  the  stair 
way.  Then  she  shrank  behind  Mrs.  Dane,  lin 
gering.  She  never  had  been  diffident  for  a 
minute  in  her  life.  But  now  she  was  afraid. 
She  panted  for  breath. 

Doctor  Warrick  met  them  at  the  foot  of  the 


staircase.  Anne  went  with  her  father  into  the 
ball-room,  as  unconscious  of  the  observant  crowd 
as  if  they  were  trunks  of  trees,  but  Milly  clung 
to  Mrs.  Dane's  arm. 

"One  minute,  cousin  Julia.  Give  me  a 
minute." 

"Yes,  come  aside.  I  must  tell  you.  David 
Plunkett  is  in  the  room.  He  found  that  you 
were  here  and  asked  me  to  bring  him." 

"To  bring  him?"  repeated  Milly  in  a  dazed 
tone.  "Here?" 

"Yes.  It  is  a  bold  move.  He  is  very  much 
in  earnest,  Mildred," — looking  at  her  curiously,  as 
they  entered  the  room.  "  He  makes  his  money, 
I  hear,  by  bold  movements.  Toujours  Vaudace 
usually  wins  in  finance — or  in  love." 

But  Milly,  cool  on  the  instant,  turned  from  her 
to  meet  her  hostess  and  made  no  answer.  M. 
Choteaud  and  some  other  men  crowded  around  her. 

Milly  smiled  sweetly  up  in  their  faces,  but  her 
fierce  little  brain  was  busy  elsewhere. 

There  was  the  hideous  creature  in  the  door 
way,  eying  her,  as  he  might  a  horse  he  thought 
of  buying.  Cousin  Julia  would  be  glad  to  do  the 
selling.  She  looked  at  Mrs.  Dane  and  hated 
her.  She  was  a  worldly,  wicked  woman,  who 
cared  for  nothing  but  money! 

Money  was  nothing  in  this  life,  Mildred  told 
herself  in  her  dumb  rage — nothing! 

A  soft,  pleasant  warmth  crept  over  the  little 
woman;  her  eyes  glowed.  There  was  no  need 
that  she  should  be  sold,  thank  God!  At  home 
they  had  enough — enough ! 


Who  would  care  for  luxuries  when  they  could 
have  that  which  was  coming  to  her  soon  ?  She 
knew  that  it  was  coming.  Why,  a  woman  could 

live    in  a  hut,  if The  men   buzzed   around 

her,  but  she  saw  only  a  look  which  once  had 
fallen  on  her.  It  seemed  as  if  she  had  been  all 
of  her  life  waiting  for  that  look.  If  he  would 
come  now — if  he  would  dance  with  her!  Milly 
felt  that  she  could  die  to-morrow  just  to  have 
him  touch  her  once  and  know  that  he  belonged 
to  her — to  her. 

At  last! 

He  was  coming  in!  Milly  turned  her  back  on 
the  door  and  in  a  moment  floated  away  in  a  waltz, 
smiling  indifferently  on  him  as  she  passed. 


CHAPTER  X 

MR.  SOUDE  was  startled  to  find  a  crowd  of 
vassals  about  Miss  Warrick.  He  had  looked 
upon  her  as  his  own  discovery. 

He  was  staring  at  them  angrily  when  Louis 
touched  him.  "Let  us  be  off  to  Orleans  to 
morrow,  John.  There  is  nothing^to  keep  us 
here." 

"  No.     I'm  ready." 

"  How  well  that  little  Northern  girl  dresses  up 
to  her  character!  Lace  and  roses.  You  never 
see  her  in  jetty  armor  or  tailor-made  gowns. 
Her  curly  head  and  thick  lashes  make  me  feel  as 
if  I  must  stroke  her,  like  any  other  little  furry, 
stupid  creature." 

"  Stupid  ?  "  Soude"  laughed.  But  he  would  not 
discuss  her  with  poor  Louis.  He  must  bid  her 
good-by,  if  he  were  going  to  Orleans  in  the 
morning.  But  the  sight  of  that  crowd  of  men 
around  her  shook  his  decision  about  going  back 
to  Orleans  in  the  morning. 

Not  being  able  to  come  near  her  he  went  to  her 
father,  who  was  in  a  corner  looking  over  some 
engravings.  He  found  a  singular  charm  in  the 
little  man's  prattle  about  epidemics  and  a  vegeta 
ble  diet,  though  it  reached  him  as  through  a  fog. 
Ha!  what  was  that  he  was  saying  ? 

"And  if  you  should   come  to  the  North,  you 


will  find  plenty  of  material  for  your  pen  in  Phila 
delphia.  Birthplace  of  the  Nation,  you  know. 
We  live  in  a  suburban  town.  A  shabby  old 
Colonial  house,  but  you  will  find  a  welcome  in  it." 

"  I  thank  you,"  Soude  said  stiffly,  bowing  low. 
He  was  amazed.  Why  had  he  been  chosen  out 
of  the  mob  of  dancing,  brandy-drinking  young 
Southerners  for  this  favor  ?  Had  she  prompted 

her  father  to Did  the  girl  really  care  for 

him  so  much  ?  He  glanced  at  her,  on  fire  with 
delight  and  conceit  and  some  other  passion  which 
he  did  not  recognize. 

"Dear  child!  As  innocent  as  a  babe!  But 
really — a  Northern  woman  ?"  he  thought,  biting 
his  mustache.  He  turned  again  eagerly  to  the 
doctor.  Heretofore  he  had  thought  his  father's 
friends,  the  old  French  cotton  planters  on  the 
Gulf,  the  finest  gentlemen  in* the  world.  But  this 
little  man,  with  his  bristling  white  whiskers  and 
military  air,  was,  John  thought,  the  most  patrician 
figure  that  he  had  ever  seen.  He  heard  the 
doctor  urge  a  dozen  other  Mobilians  with  their 
families  to  spend  next  summer  with  him,  and 
though  Soude  secretly  felt  snubbed,  his  respect 
for  him  increased. 

He  lent  an  attentive  ear  as  the  doctor  talked 
of  the  engravings,  handling  them  tenderly,  as  a 
mother  would  her  infant. 

"Ah,  how  satisfactory  these  are,  Mr.  Soude! 
Masterly  lines  there!  You  have  some  fine  collec 
tions  in  the  South.  In  Richmond  I  saw  an  un 
doubted  example  of  the  early  work  of  Vertrie 
— undoubted." 


n8 


"  I  know  very  little  about  those  black-and- 
white  things,"  said  John.  "A  good  portrait  in 
oils,  now — I  have  a  friend,  an  amateur,  who  can 
knock  you  off  a  likeness  in  half  an  hour." 

''Oh,  yes!"  said  the  doctor  hastily.  "You 
like  color.  You  are  of  the  age  to  like  it.  You 
live.  What  have  you  to  do  with  faded  etchings  ? 
Leave  them  to  us  old  fellows,  who^do  not  live." 

Soude  stared  at  him,  bewildered.  "  Oh  ?  cer 
tainly!  I  suppose,"  after  a  pause,  "your  own 
collection  is  very  fine?" 

"No.  I  only  own  one  good  print.  That  is  a 
treasure.  I  am  a  poor  man,  Mr.  Soude.  But  my 
love  for  engravings  brings  me  in  great  pleasure. 
All  the  dealers  in  the  cities  know  me,  and  when 
they  have  rare  proofs  to  sell  send  me  catalogues. 
Then  I  go  to  see  them,  and  mark  on  the  catalogues 
the  ones  I  should  buy  if  I  had  the  money.  It  is 
very  pleasant!  I  always  keep  the  catalogues." 

"Say,  doc!"  interrupted  a  young  man  who 
had  been  standing  unnoticed  beside  him;  "show 
me  the  catalogue  next  time  there  is  a  sale,  and 
by  gosh!  you  shall  have  the  pick  of  them!  " 

"  Thank  you,  David,"  said  the  doctor,  with  the 
flicker  of  a  smile.  "  Mr.  Soude,  may  I  make  Mr. 
Plunkett  known  to  you  ?  One  of  our  foremost 
business  men  in  Pennsylvania." 

The  doctor  a  moment  afterward  extricated 
himself  from  the  crowd,  and  left  the  young  men 
together. 

Plunkett  was  a  huge,  shapeless  lad,  badly 
dressed  by  a  London  tailor  in  the  extreme  fashion. 
As  he  waddled  to  a  seat,  something  about  him 


119 

suggested  to  John  that  Nature  had  started  to 
make  a  man  and  left  the  job  incomplete.  His 
neat  little  feet  were  too  small  for  the  mass  they 
carried;  a  faint  line  of  down  struggled  irresolutely 
over  his  wide  upper  lip;  now  and  then  a  manly, 
sonorous  tone  broke  into  his  piping  treble,  or  a 
look  of  keen  intelligence  peered  out  of  his  watery 
eyes  like  cray-nsh  from  a  pool,  to  disappear  sud 
denly  and  leave  unmeaning  vacancy. 

"Hoh!  "  he  said,  nodding  kindly  as  he  looked 
after  the  doctor.  "The  old  man  undervalues 
himself.  The  Warricks  are  poor,  but  what  of 
that  ?  Money  isn't  the  only  valuable  goods  in 
the  market,  I  say.  They  have  had  scholarship 
and  gentility  for  generations,  and  I  don't  rate 
them  things  low,  sir.  No,  I  don't!  Though  of 
course  a  sharp-witted  American  with  a  good  bank 
account  can  afford  to  do  without  them."  As  he 
spoke  he  clawed  complacently  at  his  flabby  chin. 
"I  for  one  appreciate  them  in  the  old  doc,  sir, 
or  in  any  man.  You  take  Dave  Plunkett's  word, 
there's  things  of  more  value  than  money  in  the 
world." 

Mr.  Soude  paid  no  attention  to  him.  He  was 
watching  his  chance  to  penetrate  the  black  ring 
of  men  around  a  little  white  figure  at  the  other 
side  of  the  room. 

"  Some  of  your  Southern  women  are  infernally 
pretty,  d'ye  know?  "  continued  Plunkett.  "Yes, 
I  think  so,  really." 

"They  are  grateful  to  you,"  said  Soude,  scowl 
ing  at  him. 

"A   little    lean,    hey?     Too   much   chalk    and 


120 


rouge  on  'em,  too.     But  they  light  up  well,  hu! 
hu!  " 

Plunkett  always  ended  with  a  fat,  complacent 
chuckle,  which  gave  you  the  impression  that  he 
was  chewing  and  gorging  the  subject.  After  a 
leisurely  survey  of  the  women  who  lighted  up 
well,  he  turned,  and  seeing  his  companion's  fixed 
gaze,  followed  it. 

He  gave  an  annoyed  grunt,  and  his  eyes  sud 
denly  had  the  watchful  stare  of  a  dog  that  had 
hidden  a  bone  which  he  feared  would  be  taken 
from  him. 

They  were  playing  a  waltz.  Mr.  Soude  crossed 
the  room.  A  flash  of  angry  intelligence  glinted 
into  Plunkett's  eyes.  "It's  Milly!  I  hit  the 
bull's-eye!  He's  going  straight  to  her!  "  he  said 
to  himself.  He  stood  in  the  way  of  the  dancers, 
his  hands  thrust  into  his  pockets,  staring  at  Milly. 
Another  man  would  have  concealed  his  dismay, 
but  David  never  concealed  any  thing.  He  pur 
sued  his  object  as  a  hound  its  prey,  unconscious 
of  lookers-on. 

Soude  did  not  ask  Milly  to  dance.  When  she 
glanced  shyly  up  at  him,  he  had  a  mad  impulse 
to  snatch  this  innocent  child  to  his  arms  and 
carry  her  away  out  of  sight  of  the  coarse  crowd. 
He  stammered  a  word  or  two  and  stood  still, 
looking  at  her.  At  least  he  would  not  go  spin 
ning  around  with  her  before  this  miserable 
mob! 

"It  is  very  quiet  on  the  veranda,"  he  said. 
"Will  you  walk  through  this  dance  with  me?" 

She  laid  her  hand  timidly  on  his  arm,  and  they 


/VJ 


"PLUNKETT    DREW    A    STARTLED    BREATH 


131 


went  out.  As  they  walked  to  and  fro,  on  one 
side  were  the  windows  of  the  ball-room,  with 
their  flashes  of  color  and  light,  and  on  the  other 
the  heavy  night,  with  the  mysterious  waste  of 
star-lit  water  quivering  yonder  on  the  horizon. 

David  Plunkett  stationed  himself  on  one  of  the 
windows,  where  he  could  catch  glimpses  of  the 
two  figures  passing  in  the  darkness.  Once  the 
light  fell  full  upon  them.  Plunkett  drew  a 
startled  breath.  He  had  never  seen  Milly's 
face  look  like  that,  so  happy,  so — honest.  "The 
little  devil's  telling  the  truth  now,  for  once  in 
her  life,"  thought  David.  What  hold  could  this 
strange  man  have  on  her  ? 

"He  is  coarse  and  dingy  as  his  own  mulattoes," 
was  his  verdict,  glancing  complacently  at  his  own 
pasty,  broad  face  in  a  mirror.  Then  he  looked 
from  the  reflection  of  his  bulky,  dwarfish  body  to 
the  shapely  figure  disappearing  in  the  shadows. 

"  Dave  Plunkett  has  a  better  card  than  figger 
to  play,"  he  thought,  with  a  grim  smile.  "Let 
her  have  her  fun  out  to-night!  When  it  comes 
to  marryin'  she'll  tramp  him  down  as  if  he  was 
a  spider — if  he's  poor." 

Meanwhile  partners  whose  names  were  on  her 
card  searched  wildly  for  Miss  Warrick,  but  she 
was  not  to  be  found.  David  saw  that  she  and 
Soude  were  sitting  in  a  hidden  recess  of  the 
veranda.  He  caught  the  man's  tones  in  a  long 
monologue.  Milly  was  silent.  Such  an  escapade 
by  the  correct,  conventional  Miss  Warrick  was 
equal  to  an  outbreak  of  madness  in  another 
woman. 


122 


Was  she  mad  ? 

David's  countenance  grew  more  leaden  in  hue. 
"I'm  not  afraid,"  he  told  himself.  "After  all 
these  years!  All  Luxborough  believes  that  she 
will  marry  me  when  I  ask  her.  What  right  has 
she  to  fool  with  that  man,  damn  her  !  " 

He  went  to  the  supper-room  and  drank  a  glass 
of  brandy,  but  it  did  not  warm  him.  His  blood 
was  like  ice. 

Milly  was  in  the  ball-room  when  he  went  back, 
chattering  gayly  to  Mr.  Soude,  her  blushing, 
sweet  face  aglow  with  delight.  John  observed 
that  when  she  saw  Plunkett  she  stammered,  and 
held  her  roses  to  her  lips,  looking  over  them  at 
him  with  a  sudden  terror.  But  David  made  no 
motion  to  come  near  her,  and  in  a  few  moments 
she  left  the  room  with  her  father. 

Soude  turned  to  watch  David  with  jealous 
curiosity.  He  saw  that  the  huge  lad  was  treated 
with  homage  by  the  Northerners.  Old  men 
bowed  respectfully  when  he  spoke  to  them,  and 
women,  when  they  danced  or  sang,  glanced  at 
him, for  approval. 

"  Who  is  that  brute  ?  "  he  asked  Choteaud. 

"  Brute  indeed!  But  I  hear  that  he  is  a  suitor 
of  Miss  Warrick's,  and  that  he  is  worth  thirty 
millions." 

Soude  laughed.  "And  what  would  she  care 
for  his  thirty  millions  ? "  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ANNE,  as  she  went  into  the  ball-room  that  even 
ing,  had  a  sudden  access  of  disgust  at  fashion 
able  life.  What  a  decorated  pen  it  was,  full  of 
adult  human  beings  capering  absurdly  about! 
Milly  laughed  at  her  wish  to  teach  the  freedmen 
or  the  pariahs  in  India:  but  Milly  never  had 
understood  her.  Professor  Hears  recognized  the 
immortal  longings  in  her.  He  was  a  man:  men 
had  the  chance  to  make  great  sacrifices,  to  rise  to 
great  heights  in  life. 

The  room  was  filled  with  smiling  people  who 
all  knew  each  other.  She  stood  beside  her  father 
behind  a  large  table  covered  with  engravings. 

Now,  in  spite  of  her  spiritual  ambitions,  Anne, 
since  she  was  a  baby,  had  expected  to  be  crowned 
sometime  a  queen  of  love  and  beauty.  What 
if  she  were  homely  and  awkward  ?  Sometime, 
somehow,  there  would  come  for  her  a  sunburst 
of  triumph  when  all  the  world  would  wonder. 
She  liked  to  fancy  crowds  of  lovers  abased  before 
her,  and  she  turning  haughtily  away. 

It  might  be  to-night 

The  violins  played  a  waltz.  The  other  girls 
were  led^out  by  eager  partners. 

"  Nobody  is  going  to  ask  me  to  dance!  " 

Her  heart  gave  great  throbs,  her  face  burned. 
She  fancied  that  the  Southern  girls,  for  whom 


124 


her  heart  had  ached  with  sympathy  just  now, 
glanced  at  her  with  an  amazed  pity  in  their  eyes, 
as  she  stood  fumbling  the  prints.  Anne  caught 
fragments  of  their  conversation  with  their  part 
ners.  How  insipid  it  was! 

"I  am  not  stupid!  I  am  a  clever  woman!" 
she  thought  indignantly.  "  I  know  more  than 
most  of  these  men.  Why  do  they  neglect  me  ? 
Am  I  so  hideous  ?  "  glancing  in  a  mirror  at  the 
dark,  eager  face.  She  tried  to  drag  up  Epictetus 
to  comfort  her. 

"  What  matters  any  thing  that  can  happen  to 
me,  if  my  soul  is  above  it  ? " 

But  her  soul  just  now  would  have  none  of 
Epictetus.  She  looked  at  her  sister  surrounded 
by  a  crowd  of  men.  She  nodded  gayly  to  Anne, 
who  smiled  bravely  back.  Thank  Heaven,  Milly 
was  not  neglected! 

"Why  are  you  not  dancing,  my  dear  ?"  said 
the  doctor.  "  Young  blood  should  be  young." 

"  This  child's  blood  is  young."  It  was  Pro 
fessor  Hears  who  spoke,  smiling  kindly  down  on 
her. 

Anne  grew  red,  guiltily.  If  this  wisest  of  men 
knew  that  she  was  wretched  because  nobody 
had  asked  her  to  dance!  She  knew  that  he  had 
been  born  heir  to  a  life  of  luxury  and  ease,  and 
had  chosen  to  spend  it  in  hard  labor  for  others. 
She  burned  with  contempt  of  herself.  But  high 
purposes  nauseated  her  to-night.  Professor 
Mears,  his  mouth  a  little  open,  was  standing,  his 
pale,  vacant  eyes  fixed  upon  her  sad,  pleading 
face.  The  thought  came  to  him  again — what  a 


125 


companion  would  this  sensitive  creature  be  to 
him  when  he  was  fagged  to  death  by  bureaux  of 
charities! 

Brooke  Calhoun  saw  some  such  meaning  in  his 
foggy  gaze.  He  suddenly  crossed  the  room. 
"  Will  you  come  out  with  me  to  supper,  Anne  ?  " 
he  asked  abruptly,  offering  his  arm. 

Anne  took  it,  her  eyes  sparkling.  "  Oh,  yes, 
indeed!"  she  said.  Then  the  recollection  that 
this  man  was  obnoxious  to  her  put  her  joy  to 
flight.  No  doubt  he  came  because  he  pitied  her: 
he  had  seen  that  no  girl  in  the  room  was  so 
neglected  as  she. 

"  Have  you  met  any  of  these  lovely  Southern 
girls  ?  "  she  asked,  hesitating. 

"I  don't  wish  to  meet  any  body  but  you,"  he 
said  simply.  "  Will  you  have  oysters  ?  " 

He  did  pity  her;  he  had  seen  how  she  was 
ignored  by  the  men — had  noted  angrily  her  dingy 
gown  and  crooked  collar.  "Poor  little  girl!  I 
wish  her  mother  were  here!  "  he  thought,  with  a 
tug  at  his  heart. 

He  found  a  table  in  a  corner  and  placed  her 
beside  it,  brought  a  foot-stool  and  shawl  to  keep 
away  the  draught.  Then  he  heaped  her  plate 
and,  sitting  opposite,  watched  her  contentedly. 
The  honest  fellow  liked  to  feed  any  creature  that 
he  loved.  And  this  was  his  little  playfellow — his 
own,  for  a  minute,  for  the  first  time  in  many 
years. 

Anne  was  warm  and  happy.  She  had  not  known 
that  she  was  so  hungry.  She  had  never  been  so 
taken  care  of — like  a  helpless  little  queen. 


126 


Brooke  told  a  great  many  funny  stories,  at 
which  they  both  laughed  till  the  tears  came,  and 
then  they  discussed  certain  dogs  and  horses  dear 
to  them  both  years  ago.  High  purposes,  pariahs, 
and  Epictetus  all  retreated  out  of  sight.  She 
forgot  that  this  man  had  sold  his  birthright 
for  a  mess  of  pottage.  This  was  Brooke,  her  old 
comrade  again — Brooke. 

But  he  was  not  eating  any  thing,  she  saw  anx 
iously.  And  the  drive  would  be  long  into  town. 
She  sprinkled  salt  on  his  oysters  and  herself  put 
the  sugar  into  his  coffee,  and  as  she  reached  for 
ward  to  give  the  cup  to  him,  it  flashed  upon  her 
how  homelike  was  the  little  table,  with  its  cups 
for  two — she  looked  up,  red  and  trembling,  and 
met  Brooke's  laughing  eyes. 

In  old  times  they  had  an  odd  habit  of  thinking 
together.  She  began  to  talk  incoherently  of 
Professor  Mears's  great  schemes.  Brooke  did  not 
seem  to  listen.  His  eyes  shone,  looking  at  some 
thing  which  she  did  not  see.  It  was  the  little 
breakfast  room  at  the  farm,  with  the  fire  crackling 
and  the  sun  shining  in  at  the  windows  and  the 
little  table  laid — for  two. 

Could  it  ever  be  ?  Was  it  possible  ?  Why  was 
it  not  possible  ?  He  answered  her  vaguely, 
scarcely  knowing  what  she  said: 

"  A  wise  man  ?  Oh,  yes!  Young,  too,  to  have 
achieved  so  much." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Anne,  moving  restlessly  under 
his  steady  gaze,  "  why  he  never  married  ?  A 
woman  who  could  throw  herself  into  his  work 
would  be  of  great  use  in  the  world." 


127 


"  Use  ?  "  Brooke  laughed.  "  If  I  were  Profes 
sor  Mears  I  would  not  marry  a  woman  to  be  a 
charitable  agent.  She  should  be  just — my  wife." 

It  was  the  commonplace  idea  of  a  commonplace 
man;  the  kind  of  idea  which  Anne  always 
trampled  underfoot  with  fierce  contempt.  But 
now  she  rose  unsteadily,  pale  and  breathless. 
Brooke  had  not  looked  at  her;  yet  it  seemed, 
when  he  spoke,  as  if  he  had  taken  her  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her. 

He  led  her  out  into  the  corridor.  He  did  not 
know  what  he  was  doing  nor  where  he  was  going; 
but  he  felt  that  of  all  his  warm,  comfortable  life, 
this  was  the  moment  most  keen  with  happiness. 
He  was  possessed  with  the  thought  of  the  old  fields 
and  the  old  house  at  home — the  pleasant  centre 
of  this  pleasant  world.  If  he  could  seize  her  and 
put  her  into  it  for  life!  Had  the  good  God  any 
such  wonderful  thing  as  that  in  keeping  for 
him  ? 

The  new  delirious  thrill  of  passion  which  shook 
him  was,  it  is  true,  mixed  with  thoughts  of  the 
house  and  cornfields  and  cows,  but  Anne  did  not 
know  that,  which  was  perhaps  as  well. 

He  halted  beside  a  window,  poring  hungrily 
over  her  face  in  the  moonlight. 

"  My  little  comrade!  you  were  gone  from  me 
so  long,"  he  said.  "  It  has  been  lonely." 

"You  could  not  have  missed  me,"  she  faltered. 
"  You  had  your  brother  and  your  work." 

"Yes,  of  course.  I  have  been  very  happy  with 
Ned  and  the  farm.  I'm  afraid,"  looking  at  her 
anxiously,  "  that  you  don't  appreciate  Ned  ?  " 


128 


"Oh,  thoroughly!"  said  Anne,  with  a  short 
laugh. 

"If  you  don't  like  him  it  is  because  you  don't 
understand  him.  I  hope  I  can  make  you  know 
him  some  day,  if " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

"I  think,"  said  Anne,  trying  to  speak  care 
lessly,  "I  understand  Edward — and  you." 

"  Perhaps  so.  Your  intuitions  were  keen,  even 
as  a  child.  You  were  appallingly  clever.  I  have 
always  been  afraid  that  you  would  outgrow  me, 
do  you  know  ?"  His  dark  face  burned;  he  leaned 
over  her.  "  In  all  the  years  that  you  were  gone, 
I  used  to  wonder  whether,  when  you  came  back, 
you  would  give  me  again " 

She  drew  back,  looking  around  to  escape.  If 
she  could  fly  and  hide  somewhere!  She  trembled 
with  dread.  Yet  she  did  not  move  an  inch. 
What  was  it  he  asked  her  to  give  ?  What  ? 

Her  eyes,  her  whole  life,  hung  upon  his  lips. 
She  could  not  breathe,  waiting  for  him  to  speak, 
She  saw,  far  off  in  the  bay,  a  white  sail  flicker  up 
out  of  the  mist  and  slowly  disappear;  but  still 
there  was  silence. 

Until  an  hour  ago  Calhoun  had  never  known 
what  it  was  he  wanted  from  this  woman.  But 
he  knew  now.  He  had  needed  it  when  he  was 
a  boy — when  he  was  a  man.  Bare  and  poor 
enough  life  had  been  without  it. 

It  was  coming  now!  She  would  give  it  to  him. 
He  saw  it  in  her  eyes.  He  would  take  her  to  the 
dear  old  farm — he  would  be  her  drudge — her 
slave 


The  honest  fellow  choked  when  he  tried  to 
speak,  the  water  stood  in  his  eyes. 

"Anne,"  he  said,  laughing  hoarsely,  "you 
see.  I  am  as  blundering  and  slow  as  ever." 

"  Calhoun!  "  called  a  voice  behind  him.  "Ah, 
here  you  are!  "  David  Plunkett  came  down  the 
corridor.  "  Here  is  a  telegram  which  has  just 
been  sent  out  from  town  for  you.  No  bad  news, 
I  hope  ?  Open  it,  man!  From  New  Orleans — 
Ned,  probably." 

David,  who  always  had  a  childish  curiosity 
about  the  affairs  of  others,  watched  Brooke 
keenly  as  he  read  the  despatch. 

"What  is  it?     Is   he  dead  ?" 

"No.  He — needs  me.  I  must  go  to  him  at 
once.  If  there  is  a  train  to-night " 

His  eyes  were  fixed  on  Anne  as  he  led  her 
back  to  the  ball-room.  She  was  not  deceived  by 
his  mechanical  answer.  He  had  had  a  blow.  It 
had  struck  hard  and  deep.  "  Deeper  than  any 
thought  of  me,"  she  thought  bitterly,  as  she  hur 
ried  to  her  father. 

Brooke  stood  motionless  a  moment,  looking 
steadily  at  her.  Beneath  his  trouble  he  was  in  a 
dull  rage  with  himself.  He  was  so  paltering  and 
slow!  He  had  always  been  slow.  It  was  un 
stable,  feather-headed  Ned,  after  all,  who  had 
always  made  his  life;  pushed  him  here  and  there 
— as  now.  He  turned,  without  a  word  of  fare 
well,  and  left  the  house.  Plunkett  followed  him. 

"  Is  Edward  dead,  Calhoun  ?"  he  said. 

Brooke  handed  him  the  despatch.  David 
mumbled  it  over,  half  aloud: 


130 


tt 


I  have  broken  my  promise.     I  have  ruined 
you.     To-night  ends  all." 

He  folded  the  yellow  slip  carefully  and  gave  it 
back. 

"  Been  gambling,  eh  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  What  does  that  matter?  He 
means  suicide." 

"Stuff!  Threatened  men  live  long,  especially 
when  they  threaten  themselves.  But  you  must 
go  to  him,  or  he'll  make  himself  the  talk  of  New 
Orleans  somehow.  There  is  no  train  to-night, 
but  my  car  is  here.  I'll  send  you  down  by 
special.  Not  a  word!  Easiest  thing  in  the 
world.  Brace  up,  Calhoun." 

"I've  neglected  the  boy  lately.  I've  not 
written  regularly; " 

"  More  likely  you've  been  too  indulgent. 
Ned's  a  shallow  fellow,  and  he  needs  a  tight 
rein.  Here's  my  trap.  I'll  drive  you  in." 

Brooke  had  a  vague  comfort  in  the  presence  of 
the  shrewd,  huge  lad,  who,  whenever  he  saw  man 
or  beast  in  trouble,  was  the  kindest  of  human 
beings,  though  he  usually  drove  the  victim  mad 
with  fuss  and  dogmatism. 

They  bowled  along  the  wide  shell  road  with 
out  speaking. 

"  Ned's  a  sheer  idiot  as  regards  money," 
Plunkett  said  at  last.  "I  would  not  lend  him  a 
dollar.  But  if  you  need  any,  Brooke,  telegraph 
me.  I'll  see  you  through  the  scrape.  And," 
he  added  in  a  louder  voice,  cracking  the  whip 
pompously,  "I'll  not  charge  you  one  darned 


cent    of    interest,     either.      Heh  ?      What    d'ye 
say  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  need  it.  I  have  property  to  cover 
Ned's  losses.  But  I'll  not  forget  that  you  offered 
it,  Dave." 

Special  trains  do  not  take  the  road  at  a  mo 
ment's  notice.  Hours  passed  while  Plunkett 
gave  orders  and  Brooke  paced  up  and  down  the 
platform  at  the  station. 

Doctor  Warrick  and  John  Soude  came  to  him, 
but  he  scarcely  understood  what  they  said. 

11 1  hear  that  your  brother  is  ill  or  in  trouble  ?  " 
Soude  asked  anxiously.  "  Is  he  in  New  Orleans  ? 
Has  he  left  the  Reve  des  Eaux  ?  " 

"Yes.  I  suspect  that  he  has  incurred  heavy 
debts  in  the  city." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all  ?  He  was  playing  high.  That 
was  why  my  father  urged  him  to  go  to  the 
plantation.  All  fair  and  among  gentlemen,  you 
know,  but  our  men  play  better  than  Edward." 

"  I  am  going  to  satisfy  them,"  replied  Calhoun 
irritably. 

"Of  course,"  said  Soude,  smiling.  "One  can 
give  a  cursed  tradesman  the  go  by,  but  debts  of 
honor  must  be  paid,  more's  the  pity!  " 

Doctor  Warrick  drew  Brooke  aside  and  excit 
edly  pressed  into  his  hand  a  hundred-dollar  bill. 
"  Take  it,  my  dear  boy.  I  wish  I  had  more,"  he 
whispered.  "I  can  borrow  from  Hears  until  I 
reach  home.  They  cannot  have  fleeced  the  poor 
lad  of  more  than  that." 

Brooke  thrust  it  back.  "No— no!  It  isn't 
money — if  I  find  him  alive  " — he  gasped. 


132 


Plunkett,  the  next  moment,  hurried  him  into 
the  car  and  waved  good-by  while  the  train 
steamed  down  the  track. 

"If  he  finds  him  alive?"  stammered  the  doctor, 
staring  after  the  vanishing  car.  "Has  poor 
Edward  been  driven  to  despair?  Do  you  think 
he  will  attempt  his  life?" 

"No  such  good  luck!"  replied  David  promptly. 
"  Go  home,  sir,  and  to  bed  in  peace.  Ned  Calhoun 
will  devil  his  brother  until  he  is  gray.  That  sort 
live  long." 

Mr.  Soude  offered  his  arm  to  the  doctor,  and 
led  him  homeward  with  the  most  reverent  defer 
ence.  He,  too,  took  a  consolatory  view  of  the 
situation. 

"I  cannot  imagine,"  he  said  gravely,  "that  any 
rational  man  would  end  his  life  because  he  could 
not  pay  his  debts:  and  Edward  Calhoun  im 
pressed  me  as  a  most  rational  and  practical  man." 
Meanwhile  Brooke  was  whirled  along  through 
the  gathering  darkness. 

The  chance  that  he  would  find  his  brother  dead 
had  stunned  him  at  first.  But  when  he  had  time 
to  think,  this  chance,  even  to  Brooke,  seemed 
improbable.  Ned  was  one  of  those  men  who 
delight  to  dance  the  skeletons  in  their  lives  daily 
before  their  friends,  and  he  had  threatened 
suicide  ever  since  his  first  whipping  at  school. 

"I'm  not  really  afraid  of  that"  Brooke  said 
half  aloud,  glancing  miserably  around  the  empty 
car.  "But— ruin?" 

There  was  in  fact  but  one  way  to  pay  the  debts 
in  New  Orleans. 


133 


"The  farm  must  go:  the  farm  must  go."  He 
said  this  over  a  dozen  times,  trying  to  make 
himself  understand  it.  He  got  up,  and  walked 
unsteadily  up  and  down  the  car. 

"The  farm  must  go.  After  that,  Ned  and  I 
must  depend  on  my  labor  from  day  to  day." 

Hitherto,  Brooke  had  believed  in  a  brilliant 
future  always  at  hand  for  his  brother — fame, 
fortune.  To-night,  this  fond  dream  vanished 
like  a  wrack  of  cloud.  He  saw  Ned  as  he  was, 
a  dead  weight,  to  be  lifted  and  carried  to  the 
end — or  to  be  left  to  perish  by  the  road. 

He  walked  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  looking 
at  the  ugly  facts  steadily.  Brooke  had  no  sickly 
love  of  martyrdom.  If  he  could  win  that  dear 
child  yonder,  and  take  her  to  the  old  house 
which  was  almost  as  dear  to  him  as  she,  no  man 
on  God's  earth  would  be  more  content. 

It  would  only  hurt  himself  if  he  gave  her  up 
She  had  but  a  childish  friendship  for  him.     Pro 
fessor    Mears    was   more     of   a   companion     for 
her.     He  stopped   for  a  moment,  and    then  fell 
again  into  his  slow  walk. 

No,  he  could  not  do  both.  He  could  not  put 
the  burden  of  Ned's  life  on  any  woman's  shoulders. 

He  sat  down,  wiping  the  cold  sw^at  from  his 
face.  "It  must  be  Ned  and  I  alone,"  he  said, 
with  a  long  breath.  "  There  will  be  no  place  for 
any  other  comrade." 

When  the  train  rolled  into  the  station  at  New 
Orleans,  a  lank  figure  rushed  up  to  it,  and  a  pale 
unshaven  face  was  thrust  into  the  windows. 


134 


"Thank  God,  you  have  come!  "  Edward  cried, 
wringing  his  hands.  "  Twice  I  have  had  the 
muzzle  of  this  pistol  on  my  forehead,  but  I  could 
not  die  without  your  forgiveness." 

"Give  me  the  pistol  now,  Ned."  Brooke 
uncocked  it  and  dropped  it  into  his  pocket. 
They  walked  out  of  the  station,  Edward  glancing 
wildly  from  side  to  side,  and  muttering  that  there 
were  "  other  ways — other  ways." 

"  How  fat  and  composed  you  look!  "  he  broke 
out  presently,  savagely.  "  The  same  complacent 
smile  you  had  at  home,  while  I've  been  in  hell — 
hell!  " 

"  We'll  try  and  bring  things  straight  now, 
Ned,"  said  Brooke  quietly.  "  It  doesn't  matter 
how  either  of  us  look.  Where  is  your  room  ? 
We  must  go  somewhere  to  talk  over  this  matter." 

"  You're  in  a  devilish  hurry  to  look  into  my 
shortcomings,"  said  Edward,  with  a  bitter  laugh. 
"  One  thing  you  must  understand.  These  men 
must  be  paid.  They  are  gentlemen.  I  want  no 
sanctimonious  cant  either — or  trying  to  dodge 
a  gambling  debt.  You  must  lend  me  plenty  of 
money.  You  needn't  be  afraid.  I'll  pay  you." 
His  voice  rose  to  a  shrill  shriek. 

They  were  crossing  Canal  Street.  The 
fruiterers,  arranging  their  baskets  on  the  ban 
quette,  stopped  to  listen. 

"  They  shall  be  paid.     Come  on." 

"  How  will  you  raise  the  money  ?  " 

"I  will  sell  the  farm." 

"  Thank  God  for  that!  I  hate  that  old  house, 
and  the  cursed  cows  and  pigs. "  In  a  few  minutes 


135 


he  said,  "Forgive  me,  Brooke.  I  know  you 
like  the  place.  Mortgage  it.  I'll  pay  you  the 
money  to  redeem  it  as  soon  as  I  get  to  work. 
One  picture  will  buy  a  dozen  such  farms." 

He  walked  a  few  paces  and  stopped  again. 
"  I've  had  no  money  since  Tuesday,"  he  stam 
mered.  "I'm  faint.  If  I  had  some  food,  I 
should  not  be  so  nearly  mad." 

"Hungry!  Great  Heavens!  Come,  boy,  come!  " 
But  when  Brooke  with  a  shocked  face  dragged 
him  toward  a  cafe,  Ned  hesitated. 

"  Mme.  Eugenie's  is  just  around  the  corner," 
he  said.  "You  really  ought  to  taste  her  crab 
pates.  This  way,  Brooke." 

When  they  were  seated  at  a  dainty  table,  a  pot 
of  flowers  in  the  centre,  the  French  waiter  bow 
ing,  menu  in  hand,  Ned  flirted  his  napkin  open, 
with  a  sudden  beaming  smile. 

"That  place  you  were  plunging  into  was  good 
enough.  But  I  do  like  sparkling  glass  and  roses, 
and  all  this  sort  of  thing.  It's  weak,  I  suppose, 
but  I  can't  help  it." 

"  No,"  said  Brooke.  "  You  can't  help  it.  It 
was  born  in  you.  I  understand." 

And  he  too  smiled. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ACCORDING  to  their  consciences,  Mr.  Franciscus 
and  Mrs.  Dane  were  faithful  guardians  to  Doctor 
Warrick's  daughters.  The  doctor  himself,  they 
regarded  as  a  babe  in  the  ways  of  the  world;  a 
babe  clothed  upon  only  with  a  few  paltry  hobbies 
and  rags  of  useless  knowledge. 

"  Samuel,"  Mrs.  Dane  often  said  to  her  friends, 
"  is  a  mere  pawn  on  the  chess-board  of  life  that 
never  will  reach  the  kings'  row.  But  Paul  and 
I  are  heartily  fond  of  the  girls.  We  will  spare 
neither  thought  nor  effort  to  establish  them  upon 
solid  ground  for  this  life  and  the  next." 

By  solid  ground  she  meant  marriages  into  old 
Luxborough  families ;  incomes  that  would  warrant 
a  pair  of  horses  and  a  man-servant;  and  a  mem 
bership  for  themselves  and  their  descendants  in 
the  Monthly  Thursday  Club.  To  ensure  them 
these  enduring  good  things  Mrs.  Dane  and  her 
cousin  Paul  had  spent  money  as  well  as  time  and 
thought.  But  of  that  they  never  spoke.  Natu 
rally,  however,  they  kept  a  keen  watch  over  the 
affairs  of  Mildred.  .Mrs.  Dane  wrote  frequent 
reports  to  Mr.  Franciscus. 

Three  days  after  the  ball  she  sat  in  her  parlor 
at  the  Battle  House,  scribbling  one  of  these 
bulletins. 


137 


"We  are  likely  to  remain  in  Mobile  during  this 
week.  Mildred  has  persuaded  Mr.  Mears  that  it 
is  a  good  base  of  operations  for  him.  I  fancy  she 
does  not  know  why  she  delights  in  Mobile.  She 
is  as  unconscious  and  naive  in  her  first  passion  as 
a  girl  of  fifteen.  She  and  young  Soude*  live  in 
each  other,  regardless  of  all  lookers-on.  Milly  is 
oddly  altered  by  this  new  flirtation,  or  love,  what 
ever  it  be.  She  has  became  frank,  talkative,  and 
even  quarrelsome.  She  will  have  nothing  to  say 
to  poor  Plunkett,  who,  in  his  turn,  says  nothing, 
but  bides  his  time.  Really,  Paul,  the  idea  of  any 
woman's  marrying  that  monster  is  quite  too 
terrible! 

"This  Mr.  Soude  is,  I  hear,  of  old  French  Louisi 
ana  stock  and,  they  assure  me,  has  large  estates — 
probably  in  Spain!  It  is  impossible  to  find  out 
any  thing  with  certainty,  here,  on  questions  of 
income.  These  Southern  people  pride  themselves 
on  their  lack  of  visible  means  of  support — espe 
cially  if  they  lost  them  during  the  war.  I  am 
certain  it  never  has  occurred  to  this  young  man 
to  enquire  what  dot  Doctor  Warrick  can  give  to 
his  daughter.  Do  tell  me,  Paul,  precisely,  what 
Mrs.  Joyce's  condition  is.  Of  course,  I  pray 
God  to  grant  her  long  life.  Anyhow,  I  hope  she 
may  have  time  to  repent.  But  Milly  has  done 
her  duty  to  that  old  woman,  and  deserves  her 
reward.  When  she  does  go  to  a  better  world —  \fa\\ 
or  some  world — poor  Milly  can  afford  to  marry 
her  long-legged  Louisianian  in  his  old-fashioned 
clothes.  Perhaps  Doctor  Weems  could  give  you 
a  hint  as  to  Eliza  Joyce's  health  just  now.  I 


133 


confess  I  am  most  anxious  about  Milly.  With 
her  beauty  and  *  faculty,'  as  the  Yankees  call  it, 
and  a  good  income,  she  could  take  a  foremost 
place  in  any  society.  I  like  a  girl  to  be  able  to 
please  herself  in  her  husband,  if  possible,  too. 
Being  Milly's  godmother,  I  feel  responsible  for 
her  future.  Try  to  see  Weems,  soon." 

She  folded  the  letter  and,  as  she  sealed  it, 
glanced  at  Mildred  and  Soude,  who  sat  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  room.  John  was  supposed 
to  be  reading  the  morning  paper  aloud,  but  in 
reality  he  was  watching  Milly's  fingers  as  she 
sewed. 

Neither  John  Soude  nor  Mildred  could  have 
recalled  the  doings  of  the  last  few  days.  There 
had  been  walks  and  sails  on  this  unreal  earth  and 
sea,  an  enchanted  air  about  them,  a  hazy  cloud 
of  witnesses  around.  That  was  all.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  Soude  to  compliment  or  make  love 
to  Mildred.  He  never  thought  of  love.  She  was 
his  friend.  Her  whispered  questions  touched  his 
most  secret  thought;  her  soft  eyes  looked  upon 
his  naked  soul.  She  believed  him  to  be  a  Shaks- 
peare  or  Bacon,  and  John  slowly  began  to  believe 
that  he  was  both.  She  raised  him  to  a  throne 
and  sat  down  at  his  feet.  From  day  to  day  he 
grew  more  delirious  with  this  homage,  and  the 
pure  contact  with  his  one  little  worshipper.  A 
brilliant  warmth  and  triumph  had  suddenly  suf 
fused  his  life— as  for  to-morrow  he  did  not  think 
of  that  at  all.  Probably  he  might  go  North  with 
Doctor  Warrick  and  spend  the  summer  in  Penn- 


139 


sylvania.     Men  of  genius  were  appreciated  there. 
He  might  spend  every  summer  in  Pennsylvania. 

But  he  went  no  farther.  Marriage,  for  years, 
had  not  occurred  to  him  as  a  definite  factor  in 
his  life.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  now.  He  was 
so  happy  that  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
always  been  a  cautious  old  man  and  had  just 
become  a  boy.  He  tried  awkwardly  now  to 
show  Mildred  this  deep  content  in  his  soul. 

"  If  I  ever  write  a  great  poem,"  he  said,  "it  will 
be  your  doing,  Miss  Warrick.  You  have  brought 
me  such  a  divine  courage.  I  wish  you  could  tell 
my  cousin  Theresa  what  you  think  I  can  do.  She 
always  laughs  at  me." 

Mildred's  delicate  brows  contracted,  but  she 
said  nothing. 

"I  wish  you  could  see  Theresa.  She  is  con 
sidered  to  be  the  most  charming  woman  in  the 
South." 

"I  have  heard  you  say  so — many  times,"  Milly 
replied,  with  a  sharp  laugh.  "All  of  your  Southern 
women  apparently  have  been  born  into  the  super 
lative  degree.  They  either  are  dazzling  beauties 
or  'brilliant  wits,'  or  '  they  have  finer  voices  than 
Nilsson.'  " 

"But  you!"  said  Soude,  his  sultry  eyes   kin 
dling.     "What  are  they  all  to  you?     Do  you  know 
my  whole  life  seems  to  have  been  a  kind  of  stairway     / ,, 
up  to  this  day  when  I  know  you  ?     I  often  wonder 
what  Theresa  will  say  when  she  seesaw/." 

Mildred  was  silent,  and  Mrs.  Dane,  having  fin 
ished  her  letter,  began  to  talk  to  them  of  the  last 
new  novel.  Mrs.  Dane,  like  other  clever  women 


140 


in  Luxborough,  liked  to  fire  off  opinions  as 
impromptu,  which  she  had  polished  ready  for 
use  in  the  sanctity  of  her  own  chamber.  Mr. 
Soude  listened  courteously,  his  half-shut  eyes  on 
Mildred's  quick  white  fingers.  Presently,  hav 
ing  disposed  of  the  novel,  she  summed  up  Mr. 
Mears  and  his  work. 

"That  good  man,  I  suppose,  is  one  pure  flame 
of  holy  zeal,"  she  said,  "but  really  he  kindles  no 
answering  heat  in  me.  I  found  poor  Ned  Cal- 
houn's  work  much  more  interesting.  Oh,  of 
course,  you  can  argue,  Mildred,  that  it  is  a 
nobler  mission  to  change  the  human  garbage 
which  all  Europe  dumps  into  Castle  Garden  into 
good  citizens  than  to  cover  a  bare  canvas  with 
a  pretty  picture.  I  can  only  say  it  does  not 
interest  me.  Besides,  Mr.  Mears  is  jerking  the 
work  of  civilizing  roughs  out  of  the  hands  of  the 
Church.  I  cannot  think  the  salvation  of  people's 
souls  wholly  a  matter  of  wages  and  ventilation 
and  drainage." 

"  I  know  nothing  about  Mr.  Mears,"  said  Milly 
placidly.  "  He  has  chosen  Anne  as  his  adviser. 
It  is  the  queerest  co-partnership.  He  rushes  to 
her  with  every  difficult  point,  and  she  takes  the 
topmost  idea  in  her  brain  and  gives  it  to  him, 
and  away  he  goes,  ecstatic.  And  you  know, 
Cousin  Julia,  nobody  can  tell  what  idea  will  be 
uppermost  in  Anne's  brain." 

David  Plunkett,  who  had  entered  the  room 
while  they  were  talking,  chuckled.  "  Mears  may 
choose  her  as  permanent  counsellor,"  he  said. 

"Nonsense!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dane.     She    sat 


141 


rubbing  her  forefinger  anxiously  over  her  chin, 
and  said:  "There  is  nothing  ridiculous  in  Mr. 
Mears's  charitable  pursuits.  In  spite  of  them 
he  has  always  been  well  received  in  society  in 
Luxborough." 

"Really?"  said  David,  with  a  shrug.  "And 
you're  exclusive  in  your  little  town,  ma'am — you're 
exclusive!  Why,  Mrs.  Judge  Hayes  said  to  me 
the  other  day,  '  Who  is  this  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson, 
anyhow  ?  He  is  never  called  upon  when  he 
lectures  in  Luxborough  ? ' ' 

"  No,  I  suppose  that  he  is  not.  We  are  very 
careful,"  said  Mrs.  Dane.  "  No  doubt  Mr.  Emer 
son  has  ability.  But  ability  is,  if  I  may  say  so,  an 
annual  plant.  We  insist  upon  long-rooted  merit." 
She  glanced  around,  smiling,  pleased  at  her  little 
metaphor;  then  added  gravely,  "We  have  had 
to  be  rigorous  in  the  Monthly  Club.  Its  doors 
open  only  to  descent." 

"They  opened  to  me,  ma'am!"  David  broke 
in,  with  a  brutal  laugh.  "  I  wonder  why  ?  You 
wouldn't  like  to  say  why;  now,  would  you,  Mrs. 
Dane?" 

Cousin  Julia  forced  a  smile.  "  Don't  make  the 
discussion  personal,  Mr.  Plunkett,"  she  said 
feebly. 

"  Oh  ?  "  He  laughed  again  insolently.  "  I  had 
cards  of  invitation  for  two  years  to  your  Club- 
minuet,  sent  by  Mrs.  Hayes,  Patroness!  I  wonder 
if  it  was  my  descent  that  moved  her  ?  Why,  you 
must  have  known  my  grandfather,  old  Zack  Plun 
kett  ?  A  beastly  old  devil!  It  was  my  father 
that  made  the  money.  Zack  peddled  salt  fish 


142 


and  canned  oysters  all  through  Pennsylvania. 
Yes,  he  did.  Now  don't  pretend  you  never  heard 
that,  ma'am.  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it!  I  don't 
care  a  rap  what  my  grandfather  did,  so's  /  don't 
have  to  peddle  fish  and  oysters!  " 

Soude  stared  dully  at  him,  amazed.  Mrs.  Dane 
nervously  adjusted  her  papers  on  the  desk.  Milly 
stitched  on,  with  downcast  eyes.  The  silence 
lasted  uncomfortably  long.  David  broke  it  with 
a  loud  laugh. 

"  No.  It  wasn't  my  descent  from  the  old 
pedler  that  opened  the  door  of  your  club  to 
me.  I  know  what  it  was,  well  enough!  So  do 
you.  I  tore  up  the  cards  and  threw  them  in  the 
fire.  Mrs.  Hayes  may  look  elsewhere  for  a  gilded 
calf  to  set  up  in  your  club! "  The  huge  lad 
gathered  himself  to  his  feet,  standing  erect  with 
a  certain  clumsy  dignity.  "  If  she  couldn't  see 
that  I  should  have  been  asked  for  other  rea 
sons  than  my  money — other  reasons "  He 

touched  himself  upon  the  breast,  and  stood  silent 
a  minute. 

"God!  It's  a  mean  world!"  he  broke  out, 
turning  his  back  on  them  and  going  to  the 
window.  Mrs.  Dane  started  up,  with  a  motherly 
impulse  of  pity,  but  catching  the  look  of  cold  dis 
gust  in  Milly's  calm  eyes  which  followed  him,  she 
sat  down,  abashed. 

John  Soude  lazily  reflected  a  moment  upon 
the  discomfort  of  having  any  thing  to  do  with 
underbred  people.  Who  cared  to  hear  that  the 
fellow's  grandfather  sold  fish  ?  It  never  had 
occurred  to  John  in  his  life  to  talk  of  his  grand- 


143 


father.  The  world  knew  the  Soudes  as  it  knew 
the  signs  of  the  zodiac.  He  sank  back  into 
meditations  on  Mildred's  darting  needle.  The 
silence  was  unbroken. 

Presently  Miss  Warrick,  searching  for  her 
silks,  took  a  small  ivory  box  from  her  basket  and 
opened  it. 

John  started  forward,  alive,  tingling  through 
all  of  his  lazy  body.  Great  Heavens!  His 
letters!  The  poor  newspaper  slips,  folded  away 
among  her  little  treasures!  He  leaned  forward 
and  touched  them  with  his  finger,  breathing  hard. 

"  Do  you — is  it  possible,  Miss  Warrick,  that 
you  really  care  for  these  things?"  he  whispered. 

Milly  flushed,  looking  ready  to  cry.  "  Of 
course  I  care  for  them,"  she  said,  forcing  a  laugh. 
"  You  have  been  so  kind  to  me,  and  I — I  never 
had  a  brother." 

A  brother  ?  Soude  did  not  answer.  Mrs. 
Dane  began  to  flutter  her  papers  at  the  other 
end  of  the  room,  and  that  vulgar  mass,  Plunkett, 
came  closer,  and  as  usual  seemed  to  choke  and 
foul  the  atmosphere  for  all  about  him. 

John  started  up,  took  his  hat,  and  went  out. 
He  reached  the  quiet  street  and  walked  down  it 
in  a  dull  heat  of  anger,  he  knew  not  why. 

But  one  thing  was  certain,  he  was  no  brother 
for  her! 

In  a  few  minutes  he  rushed  away  breathless  to 
a  little  shop  in  St.  Francis  Street,  where  he  knew 
that  some  sketches  of  the  suburbs,  made  by  a 
poor  artist,  were  sold.  He  turned  them  over? 
breathless. 


144 


Ah,  it  is — the  very  spot!  The  old  pier  from 
which  she  fell,  the  rippling  bay,  the  live-oaks! 
The  shopman,  eying  him  keenly,  doubled  the 
price  of  the  picture.  John  carried  it  to  his 
room,  chuckling  triumphantly. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

MR.  SOUDE  had  been  asked  to  go  with  the 
Northern  party  that  evening,  down  the  bay. 
While  he  smoked  his  pipe  delirious  visions 
thrilled  him  of  the  boat  drifting  through  star-lit 
mists,  of  a  soft  figure  scattering  the  perfume  of 
roses.  When  he  boarded  the  boat  there  were  the 
starlight  and  the  mist,  but  instead  of  the  soft 
white  figure,  Cousin  Julia,  lorgnette  to  her  eyes, 
stepping  about  like  a  drill  sergeant,  and  Plunkett 
everywhere,  a  mass  of  offence. 

Soude  pushed  through  the  crowd  of  laughing 
girls  and  men.  He  hated  them  all.  WTas  he 
never  to  have  her  for  a  moment  to  himself  ? 

The  boat  was  in  motion.  From  the  farther 
end  of  the  deck  came,  he  fancied,  a  faint  scent 
of  roses.  The  women  were  all  in  dark  travel 
ling  gowns,  but  yonder,  in  the  shadow,  was  a 
little  drift  of  softness  and  silvery  gray,  and  a 
childish  face  peering  out  of  some  airy  whiteness. 

A  lamp  overhead  threw  a  single  beam  of  light 
upon  her.  John  leaned  over  her,  and  laid  the 
little  picture  on  her  knee.  "I  thought,"  he  said, 
"  that  sometime  you  might  like  to  remember  how 
happy  you  had  once  made  a  poor  fellow  for  a 
day." 

Milly  held  it  for  a  moment,  and  then,  without 
a  word,  looked   up  at   him.     Were  ever  eyes  so 
meek  and  so  innocent  ? 
10 


I46 


David  was  watching  them.  "  Does  Milly 
accept  presents  from  strangers  ? "  he  demanded 
of  Mrs.  Dane.  "  D'ye  see  that  scoundrel  ?  " 

"Hush-h!  Dear  Mr.  Plunkett!  It  is  nothing — 
some  worthless  trifle,"  she  said. 

David  thumped  across  the  deck  and  bent  over 
Mildred.  "  Specimen  of  Southern  art,  eh  ?  "  he 
grunted  contemptuously. 

But  Milly  held  it  tightly.  He  should  not 
pollute  it  with  his  touch  or  his  look! 

David  understood  her  plainly.  He  drew  back, 
and  when  Soude  hurried  her  away  to  the  bow  of 
the  boat,  stood  staring  after  them  with  no  more 
self-control  than  an  animal,  not  caring  who  saw 
the  hurt  and  rage  in  his  face. 

"Come  away!"  panted  John.  "Can  I  never 
see  you  alone  ?  What  right  has  that  brute  to 
speak  to  you  ?  To  assume  authority  over 
you  ?  " 

He  was  on  fire  with  a  sudden  mad  jealousy,  but 
Milly  looked  quietly  up  at  him,  saying  nothing. 

They  were  far  apart  from  the  others,  in  the 
shadow;  the  vast  plane  of  shining  water  parting 
before  them,  as  they  came,  the  blue  heavens 
listening  overhead. 

In  this  great  silent  world,  they  two  were  alone 
together,  at  last.  His  fingers  touched  her  warm 
hand  as  it  lay  on  his  arm.  Poor  little  girl!  Was 
that  old  Jezebel  selling  her  to  that  beast  for  his 
thirty  millions  ?  John  clutched  the  soft  hand  in 
his.  He  did  not  think.  He  was  frenzied  with 
hate  of  yonder  fat  boor.  He  would  tear  the 
girl  out  of  his  clutches — he  would  kill  her 


147 


before  Plunkett  should  lay  a  finger  on  her.  She 
was  so  helpless,  so  dear! 

So  dear  ?     Was  it  that? 

The  whole  world  seemed  to  swerve  and  change 
about  him.  It  had  come!  It  was  she  for  whom 
he  had  been  waiting  all  of  his  life.  Theresa 
would  say  so.  Theresa  had  always  laughed  at 
his  loves  and  fancies,  but  she  would  be  in  earnest 
now  about  this  girl. 

He  talked  fast  and  incoherently;  he  did  not 
know  of  what,  and  neither  did  Milly  know.  She 
was  out  of  herself  to-night.  Her  self  was  in 
Luxborough,  a  middle-aged  woman  screwing 
a  penny  from  the  butcher  or  slaving  for  old 
Eliza  Joyce.  Here,  she  was  a  child — a  child! 
The  warm  air  kissed  her  cheeks,  the  heavens 
stooped  to  listen,  the  vast  enchanted  water  was 
parting  before  them  as  they  came,  and  this  man 
was  close  to  her,  so  strange,  so  much  better 
known  to  her  than  any  living  creature. 

But  if  he  knew  her  as  she  was  at  home! 

Soude  was  pouring  out  words  with  furious 
haste. 

"I  have  no  right  to  tell  you  this.  The  time  is 
so  short.  Two  weeks  ago  you  did  not  know  that 
I  was  in  the  world.  You  don't  know  any  thing 
about  me  now,  only  that  I  am  a  well-born  pauper; 
but  I  love  you.  I  love  you  so  much  that  it  seems 
as  if  you  must  give  me  something" — his  whole  big 
frame  panted;  the  fingers  that  touched  hers  were 
cold. 

"  If  you  will  be  my  wife.  I — what?  What 
did  you  say  ?  " 


148 


"The  short  time  doesn't  matter,"  Milly  said, 
with  a  sobbing  laugh. 

He  stooped  to  see  her  face. 

It  might  have  been  minutes,  it  might  have 
been  hours,  that  she  floated  on  through  space, 
with  his  arms  about  her  and  his  whispers  in  her 
ear. 

Suddenly  she  tore  herself  out  of  his  arms 
passionately. 

"I'm  not  good  enough  !  Oh,  I'm  not  good 
enough!"  she  cried.  "You  don't  know  me. 
I'm  such  a  miserable  little  fraud." 

John  laughed,  and  began  to  soothe  her  with  yet 
tenderer  words  and  caresses.  He  felt  very  old 
and  masterful.  He  knew  how  to  control  any 
nervous  little  girl! 

The  honest  fellow  talked  on  while  Milly 
sobbed  and  trembled,  watching  his  face  wistfully. 

Up  to  that  moment  she  had  marched  compla 
cently  on  her  measured  little  path.  Even  when 
she  had  knelt  to  pray,  or  when  she  had  taken  the 
sacred  bread  and  wine  into  her  lips,  she  had 
never  had  a  doubt  of  her  own  complete  excellence. 

But  now,  when  this  coarse,  commonplace  man 
put  his  faith  in  her,  she  thrust  it  back — she  could 
have  shrieked  aloud  in  shame  and  humiliation. 

The  Holy  Spirit  makes  its  way  to  some  souls 
through  queer  by-ways. 

But  Milly,  after  all,  did  not  speak  again  of  her 
shame.  After  a  few  minutes,  she  was  sorry  that 
she  had  spoken  of  it  at  all. 

She  began  to  find  her  footing  again  in  the 
cyclone.  While  John's  heart  was  choking  him 


149 


•  with  its  throbs  of  passion  and  pride,  hers  fell 
back  into  its  calm,  steady  beat,  and  left  her  alert 
brain  to  its  usual  work. 

"  Come,  we  must  find  your  father!  "  he  said. 

He  would  have  swept  down  upon  them  all  with 
his  triumph.  He  wanted  to  take  the  whole  world 
into  his  joy. 

But  Milly  tugged  at  his  arm,  and  held  him  quiet 
by  main  force.  "Oh,  no!  You  must  tell  nobody! 
Promise  me  that  you  will  tell  nobody  for  a  week!  " 
she  said  breathlessly. 

"  But  your  father  ?  I  must  speak  to  Doctor 
Warrick." 

"  Oh,  not  for  a  week!  He  will  do  as  I  wish — he 
always  does.  But  I  have  a  reason — a  week.  Give 
me  my  own  way  in  this,  Mr.  Soude." 

"  Call  me  John,  then.  Now,  look  at  me — in 
the  eyes.  Now! — '  John.'  " 

She  had  her  own  way,  of  course.  He  loved 
her  all  the  more  for  the  sweet  shyness  which 
would  keep  their  engagement  a  secret  to  them 
selves. 

When  they  left  the  boat  that  evening  with  the 
others,  however,  he  suspected  that  every-body 
guessed  it,  and  led  her  ashore  with  a  proud  sense 
of  ownership,  the  more  exultant  because  of  the 
attentive  crowd  and  of  Plunkett,  standing  near, 
dumb  and  watchful. 

When  Milly  reached  the  hotel  she  hurried  to 
her  room  and  locked  the  door.  Anne  tapped  at 
it  gently,  but  she  gave  no  answer. 

What  was  Anne,  or  her  father  ?  Strangers — 
aliens!  There  was  but  one  human  being  in  the 


150 


world,  and  he  loved  her!     She  wanted  now  to  be  ' 
alone  with  him.     She  paced   up  and    down   the 
room,  pressing  her  hands  to  her  face.     Here  he 
had  kissed  her,  here  and  here!     The  blood  yet 
leaped  to  the  spot. 

Presently  she  sat  down  to  think  out  her  plan. 
It  was  all  to  give  him  happiness.  What  else  did 
she  care  for  now  on  earth  ? 

He  had  called  himself  a  "well-born  pauper." 
Even  in  that  first  moment  when  she  knew  that  he 
loved  her,  she  had  heard  the  words  and  keenly 
noted  them.  She  was  glad  that  he  was  poor! 
She  would  make  him  rich! 

Mines  in  Montana,  railway  shares,  government 
bonds,  rivers  running  gold — he  should  be  richer 
than  Aladdin!  She  would  give  all  to  him! 

Mildred  threw  herself  down  upon  the  floor;  her 
hands  were  clasped  about  her  knees,  her  eyes  up 
lifted  as  she  counted  over  these  things  as  a 
starving  saint  might  reckon  the  joys  of  Heaven.  • 
Her  eyes  glittered,  her  lips  grew  white  in  an 
ecstasy.  She  reckoned  them  over  again  and 
again. 

She  had  received  yesterday  a  letter  from  Doctor 
Weems  saying  that  Mrs.  Joyce  was  sinking  fast. 
She  had  kept  silent  about  it.  She  could  not  go 
to  her  in  time,  and  there  was  no  use  in  breaking 
up  the  boating  party.  Mrs.  Dane  and  her  father, 
if  they  heard  it,  might  think  some  show  of 
mourning  proper.  What  good  could  that  do  ? 

In  a  week — to-morrow  ? 

All  these  things  would  be  hers  and  she  could 
pour  them  into  his  hands. 


She  had  a  fancy  that  no  one  should  know  of 
their  betrothal  until  she  could  openly  come  to 
him  with  this  royal  dower. 

"  What  do  I  care  for  money  ?  "  she  muttered  as 
she  crept,  shivering,  into  bed.  "  It  is  nothing — 
nothing,  but  to  make  him  happy.'* 


CHAPTER  XIV 

How  was  John  Soude  to  keep  silence  about 
this  miraculous  triumph  for  a  whole  week  ?  He 
got  out  of  bed  the  next  morning,  feverish  and 
angry.  Why  must  he  be  muzzled  ? 

Then  a  thought  struck  him.  He  hurled  his 
boot  across  the  room  with  a  shout  of  delight. 
He  would  take  her  to  Le  Reve  des  Eaux!  He 
would  show  her  to  Theresa!  to  the  dear  old 
General!  He  could  roar  out  his  joy  at  home, 
thank  God!  Why  had  he  not  thought  of  it 
sooner  ? 

He  rushed  to  the  telegraph  office,  and  breakfast 
brought  to  Doctor  Warrick  a  long  and  courteous 
message  from  General  and  Miss  Soude,  urging  him 
to  bring  his  daughters  and  Mrs.  Dane  to  the 
plantation,  and  to  consider  it  their  home  while 
they  remained  in  the  South. 

"Really!  Most  kind,  I  am  sure!  Most  thought 
ful!  "  buzzed  the  doctor,  greatly  pleased.  "Well, 
cousin  Julia  ?  What  do  you  say,  girls  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dane  darted  a  keen  glance  from  Soude's 
glowing  face  to  Milly's  downcast  eyes. 

"  Is  the  party  here  to  be  broken  up? "  she 
asked. 

"  My  father  would  be  delighted  to  receive  them 
all,"  said  Soude  eagerly.  "But  Mr.  Mears  with 
most  of  the  men  is  going  to  the  coal  region. 


153 


Do  not  refuse,  dear  Mrs.  Dane,"  he  pleaded.  "  It 
is  but  a  few  hours'  journey.  The  scenery  on  the 
way  is  wonderful." 

"Ah,  you  know  how  to  tempt  me!"  Mrs. 
Dane  smiled  and  bridled.  "  If  I  have  any  gift,  it 
is  a  keen  comprehension  of  nature.  What  do  you 
think,  Mildred  ?  " 

"  We  will  go,"  said  Miss  Warrick  quietly,  "  on 
Wednesday." 

"Then  I  will  be  off  at  once  and  bringdown  the 
horses  and  traps  to  the  station  for  you,"  said  John, 
jumping  up  excitedly.  "  I  have  just  time  to  catch 
the  train."  But  he  lingered,  hat  in  hand,  talking 
to  Mildred  in  a  low  voice. 

It  was  a  rainy  day;  the  dingy  room  lay  in 
shadow;  these  two  by  the  window  made  a  little 
centre  of  brightness  and  meaning  in  its  dulness. 
The  meaning  was  clear  enough.  Soude's  eyes 
glowed  as  he  leaned  over  her,  and  Milly's  face 
drooped  timidly,  like  a  frightened  child's.  Even 
Mrs.  Dane  found  something  sweet  in  the  picture 
and  turned  away,  her  lips  trembling  a  little. 

But  David  did  not  turn  away.  He  watched 
them  steadily.  His  broad  face  was  leaden  in  hue, 
and  there  was  an  ugly  glitter  in  his  usually  kindly 
eyes. 

"  The  mulatto  plays  a  bold  game,"  he  muttered 
to  Mrs.  Dane. 

"  Faint  heart  never  wins,  Mr.  Plunkett.  You 
have  been  playing  the  game  for  years  and  he  for 
weeks,"  she  said  tartly. 

David  made  no  answer.  He  drew  back  farther 
into  the  dark  corner,  staring  at  Milly.  "Yes,  for 


154 


years!  "  he  groaned  inwardly.  Since  he  was  a 
boy.  If  he  could  only  understand  her!  Some 
times  she  was  so  kind,  so  tender — he  had  been 
sure  that  she  loved  him;  and  as  he  thought  of 
these  times  now,  his  huge,  unwieldy  body  glowed 
and  burned.  If  it  could  be  ?  He  would  be  such 
a  good,  noble  fellow!  It  was  in  him  to  be  good 
and  noble.  He  would  give  money  to  all  these 
poor  devils  around  who  needed  money;  he  would 
give  up  all  the  sins  which  his  gross  flesh  made  so 
near  and  easy.  Milly  would  make  him  a  decent 
man  and  a  good  Christian.  He  would  go  to 
church  with  her  and  read  the  Bible 

Yet  there  were  times  when  she  seemed  to  him 
only  a  mercenary  little  devil. 

John  was  gone  at  last,  and  Plunkett  came  up 
to  the  table  where  the  doctor  and  Mr.  Mears 
still  sat  at  breakfast. 

"I'm  sick  of  this  place!  "  he  broke  out.  "I've 
had  enough  of  the  South!  I'm  going  back  to 
Luxborough.  You  don't  know  the  Luxborough 
folk,  Mears?  You'd  enjoy  yourself  in  the  new 
set.  It's  the  fashion  to  sneer  at  them," — with  a 
furtive  glance  at  Milly. 

No  one  spoke. 

"Yes,"  Plunkett  continued  in  his  shrill,  rasping 
tone,  "  folks  call  'em  vulgar  and  mercenary.  But 
if  they  do  worship  the  dirty  dollar,  they  ain't 
ashamed  of  their  religion,  like  some  I  know." 

"  I  have  heard  that  it  was  a  very  wealthy  com 
munity,"  said  Dr.  Mears  politely,  winking  his 
pale  eyes  gravely  over  his  egg. 

"Wealthy — I    should   say  so!     I   gave  a  little 


155  ' 


spread  there  th'other  day,  only  six  of  us,  and  we 
sat  down  a  cool  hundred  million  at  the  table. 
Yes,  they've  lots  of  style,  too.  I  don't  go  in  for 
style  myself.  The  Plunketts  come  up  from  the 
bottom,  as  every-body  knows.  But  them  Lux- 
borough  girls  have  plenty  of  beauty  and  go  in 
them!"  staring  defiantly  at  Milly.  "Any  man 
would  have  satisfaction  in  hanging  diamonds  on 
one  of  them  an'  settin'  her  at  the  head  of  his  table. 
And  talk  of  intellect,  they're  on  top!  "  he  went 
on,  with  growing  excitement.  "  They  write  plays 
and  act  'em,  and  they  pick  the  banjo  and  are 
infernally  horsey.  They'd  make  their  mark  in 
any  furrin  court.  An'  they've  got  money  already. 
They  needn't  look  out  for  it  in  marryin'." 

Mr.  Mears  broke  the  silence  which  followed. 
"  Naturally,  you  dread  women  fortune  hunters,  I 
suppose,  Mr.  Plunkett  ?  " 

"Me?  No,  no!"  with  a  cackling  laugh. 
"  Dave  Plunkett's  eyes  are  pretty  wide  open. 

No  woman  will  take  me  in!  If  she  did " 

He  rose  and  stood  for  a  moment,  his  jaws  work 
ing  nervously.  "If  I  found,  sir,  that  my  wife 
had  married  me  for  money,"  he  went  on  deliber 
ately,  "  I'd  throw  her  into  the  street.  I'd  treat 
her  like  any  dog  that  was  stealing  from  me." 

"Come,  cousin  Julia,"  said  Milly's  cool,  sweet 
voice.  "Let  us  have  a  tramp  in  the  rain.  The 
air  is  close  here.  Good-morning,  Mr.  Plunkett. 
We  shall  find  you  in  a  less  belligerent  mood 
presently,  I  hope,"  smiling  radiantly  up  into  his 
big  face,  round  and  white  as  that  of  a  circus 
clown. 


156 


He  winced  as  a  clown  would  at  the  cut  of  a 
whip.  "I  dunno;  I  may  go  to  Birmingham  to 
day  with  the  rest,"  he  stammered. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  will  not.  I  shall  find  you  here." 
And  she  tripped  smiling  away. 

"The  man  is  a  beast!"  Mrs.  Dane  exclaimed 
angrily,  when  they  were  in  the  corridor,  but 
Milly  turned  her  cold  eyes  on  her  steadily. 

"You  do  not  know  him,"  she  said  quietly. 

Nobody  could  close  the  door  on  a  subject  so 
gently  and  so  effectually  as  Mildred. 


CHAPTER  XV 

JOHN'S  train  that  day  shook  and  joggled  un 
easily  by  turns  through  wet,  glancing  sunshine  or 
dark  hurries  of  rain.  He  looked  out  anxiously. 
What  would  she  think  of  these  villages  of  tumble 
down  houses  hidden  under  rose-bushes  and  the 
men  and  women  loitering  about  in  clothes  of  the 
last  century  ?  Here  was  his  own  country — his 
own  people.  He  had  always  been  proud  and 
fond  of  them.  But  what  if  she  did  not  like  them  ? 

The  great  swamps,  with  their  myriads  of 
cypress  knees  glaring  through  the  mist  like 
dwarfish  ghosts,  had  always  seemed  to  him  like 
the  entrance  into  Hades — but  perhaps  she  pre 
ferred  meadows  and  apple  orchards.  Then  came 
the  Gulf,  a  vast  leaden  plane  to-day,  heaving 
sullenly  up  against  the  rain.  Heavens!  what  if 
she  did  not  approve  of  the  Gulf!  It  would  seem 
petty  to  her.  She  was  used  to  the  Atlantic. 

He  was  in  despair — the  material  was  so  poor 
which  he  had  to  make  her  life  beautiful  and  rich. 

When  he  reached  New  Orleans  he  rushed  to  a 
shop  and  chose  a  dozen  worthless  prints,  which 
he  sent  back  to  the  doctor.  "  It  will  please  her 
to  know  that  I  have  given  the  old  man  pleasure," 
he  thought,  glowing  with  pride  and  delight. 
Then  to  a  florist's,  from  whence  magnificent 
baskets  of  roses  were  despatched  to  Mobile  by 


158 


every  train.  He  could  not  send  her  any  thing 
but  flowers — now.  But  as  he  seated  himself  in 
the  train  again,  visions  of  diamond  tiaras,  of 
ropes  of  pearls,  floated  in  his  brain. 

He  sat  up  suddenly  on  the  seat,  thrust  his 
fingers  into  his  pockets,  drew  out  a  single  torn 
one-dollar  bill,  and  spread  it  over  his  knee,  look 
ing  at  it  with  a  laugh.  Then  he  put  it  back,  and, 
dropping  his  head  on  his  breast,  sat  motionless. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  John  knew  that  he 
actually  was  a  pauper. 

So  far  his  feeling  for  Milly  had  been  an  ecstatic 
dream,  but  now  he  faced  facts.  How  could  he 
give  her  the  things  which  his  \vife  must  have  ? 
He  was  dependent  on  his  father  for  every  penny. 
He  had  never  quite  understood  it  before. 

Yet  John  was  neither  a  boy  nor  a  fool.  He 
was  a  man  of  the  world,  after  the  fashion  of 
Southern  men  of  his  day.  He  had  joined  the 
Louisiana  Tigers  at  sixteen,  and  gone  into  battle 
with  no  rage  nor  shouting,  but  with  a  good- 
humored  intention  to  kill  or  be  killed.  After  the 
war  was  over  he  had  never  had  any  especial 
intention  of  any  kind.  Life  was  one  long  gay 
adventure.  One  day  his  pockets  would  be  stuffed 
out  with  bills:  the  next  neither  he  nor  the 
General  would  have  a  picayune  between  them. 
Meantime  he  saw  thoroughly  the  upper  and 
under  side  of  life  in  the  Gulf  cities.  He  had 
flirted  with  the  coarsest  women  and  women  as 
pure  as  Cordelia  ;  he  had  risked  his  last  cent  on 
a  horse  and  had  lost.  But  he  had  always  kept 
his  head  through  it  all.  Now,  for  the  first  time 


159 


in  his  life  he  had  lost  his  head.  Never  before 
had  he  felt  this  dumb  frenzy  to  do — to  do!  To 
take  a  grip  on  the  world  and  shake  it  as  a  dog 
would  a  bone. 

It  was  intolerable  that  her  life  should  be 
cramped  or  balked  for  lack  of  a  few  dirty  dollars. 
He  kicked  out  his  legs  in  his  rage,  and  struck  his 
shin.  As  he  rubbed  it  he  grinned  at  his  own 
folly. 

He  would  force  things  to  come  right  somehow. 
Things  at  the  plantation  had  been  going  wrong 
for  years.  He  would  look  into  them.  The 
General  left  the  entire  management  in  the  hands 
of  a  mulatto  overseer,  and  John  had  resolved 
a  hundred  times  to  examine  into  it,  and  had  put 
off  the  evil  day.  His  father  had  a  blind  confi 
dence  in  the  fellow.  Why  make  the  old  man 
uncomfortable  ? 

But  it  must  be  done  now. 

The  fact  was,  that  John  had  never  but  once 
before  seriously  faced  this  difficulty  of  money. 
He  was  not  used  to  face  any  difficulty,  if  he  could 
lounge  around  it.  Stretched  out  again  now  on 
the  seat,  slowly  puffing  his  cigar,  he  recalled  with 
grim  amusement  that  one  great  effort  of  his 
life. 

We  will  know  him  better  if  we  recall  it  too. 

It  was  on  a  spring  day  years  ago,  when  he  and 
his  father  suddenly  perceived  that  Theresa  was 
grown  up.  John  swore  that  she  should  make 
a  brilliant  debut  in  New  Orleans  that  winter. 
Money  would  be  needed  for  dress,  jewels,  and 
balls. 


i6o 


The  General  had  none. 

John  would  make  it.  Nothing  could  be 
easier. 

He  took  the  train  for  New  Orleans,  and  set  to 
work  in  a  fury  of  zeal,  as  sure  of  carving  out 
a  fortune  in  a  few  weeks  as  he  had  been  of  hew 
ing  down  the  Yankees,  hip  and  thigh,  at  Shiloh. 

You  are  not  to  suppose  that  he  actually  worked 
with  either  head  or  hands.  How  could  he  ?  He 
had  no  profession,  no  craft.  His  first  vague 
idea  had  been  to  go  into  a  mercantile  house,  and 
step  up  to  a  partnership  at  gigantic  strides.  But 
Louis  Choteaud,  whom  he  consulted,  burst  into 
derisive  laughter. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  coffee  or  sheetings  ? 
When  you  go  into  trade,  mon  btte\  the  very 
draymen  will  have  their  pickings  and  stealings 
out  of  you!  Conceive,  too,  the  General  finding 
the  name  of  Soude  on  a  box  of  millinery  or  a 
ham!  It  would  kill  him!  " 

John  nodded  assent,  and  slunk  away  down  the 
street  as  if  he  had  been  caught  stealing. 

But  no  time  must  be  lost.  He  went  to  work  in 
the  ways  in  vogue  with  men  of  his  caste  and 
time:  borrowed  a  few  thousands,  bought  stocks; 
lost  on  Tuesday,  on  Wednesday  won;  invested  on 
Friday  in  an  orange  plantation  in  Florida,  which 
he  had  never  seen,  and  sold  it  the  next  week  for 
one-third  the  money. 

Le  Due,  his  neighbor,  had  gone  out  into 
Kansas  and  bought  a  ranch.  He  had  conjured  a 
railway  junction  on  to  it,  and  cleared  a  million 
of  dollars  on  town  lots. 


"Go  to  Kansas,  my  son,"  said  the  General, 
when  John  went  home  to  consult  him.  They  sat 
smoking  together  on  the  gallery  of  the  old 
house — before  them  a  vast  prairie  sloped  down  to 
the  Gulf.  "  If  you  must  have  a  million  also,  go  to 
Kansas.  You  have  capacity,  more  than  Le  Due. 
In  my  day  it  was  not  the  business  of  gentlemen 
to  make  money.  If  the  sugar  crop  was  large, 
we  spent  more:  if  small,  we  spent  less — cest 
e'gal !  Damn  it!  what  d'ye  want?  Diamonds 
for  Therese  ?  St.  Paul  tells  us  all  to  beware  of 
covetousness."  He  groaned,  stroking  the  long 
gray  beard  that  swept  over  his  huge  stomach. 
"  Bien !  My  day  is  over.  A  boy  of  your  age 
must  have  his  horses,  hunting — how  do  I  know 
what?  Therese,  too,  lace,  jewels!  And  so  she 
ought.  If  I  could  wring  money  for  you  children 
out  of  my  blood  I'd  do  it.  God  knows  I'd  do  it. 
But  go — go  with  the  others.  You  evidently  have 
a  head  for  finance." 

"  I  think  I  have,  General,"  John  said  modestly. 
"  I  ranked  Olave  Le  Due  in  college,  and  if  he  has 
made  a  million — I  suppose  it  will  be  infernally 
rough  in  Kansas! " 

"  It  is  good  for  a  man  to  endure  hardship  in 
his  youth,"  said  the  General,  his  foggy  brain  as 
usual  filled  with  scraps  of  Scripture.  "When  I 
was  your  age,  I  have  fasted  for  days  and  days  on 
a  buffalo  hunt.  No  shirking,  sir!  You've  put 
your  hand  to  the  plough " 

He  shouted  to  one  of  the  women  to  mix  his 
toddy,  and  leaning  back  in  his  rocking-chair  in 
the  hot  sun,  thought  of  John  hazily  during  the 


162 


afternoon  as  going  forth  on  some  sort  of  religious 
crusade. 

He  knew,  as  his  son  did  not,  the  desperate  need 
that  there  was  for  the  money  in  the  household, 
increasing  with  every  year.  Indeed,  every  morn 
ing,  when  his  head  was  clear,  the  old  man  would 
resolve  to  go  himself  down  to  Orleans  and  make 
some  grand  coup  to  mend  their  fortunes.  Other 
men  of  his  generation  had  gone  to  this  unclean 
work  of  money-grubbing.  Elliott  of  Bayou  Sara 
had  started  a  cotton-seed  oil  factory  and  Vallue 
was  a  partner  in  an  iron  furnace.  Southern  men 
doubtless  would  now  have  control  of  the  busi 
ness  of  the  country  as  once  they  had  of  its  politics 
and  society. 

"Garoche!  "  he  would  shout  from  the  gallery, 
"  bring  up  the  mules,  to  take  me  down  for  the 
noon  train." 

But  after  he  had  gorged  an  enormous  breakfast 
and  was  seated  in  the  gallery  in  the  blazing  sun, 
the  dogs  asleep  about  him,  he  would  forget  all 
about  the  mules  and  the  fortune  he  was  to  make. 
The  idea  of  money  or  work  dropped  as  quickly 
out  of  the  brain  of  a  Soude  as  does  a  pebble 
through  water. 

John,  on  his  way  to  Kansas,  had  stopped  in 
New  Orleans  to  tell  the  men  of  the  magnificent 
luck  awaiting  him.  They  agreed  with  him  that  if 
that  idiot  Le  Due  could  make  a  fortune,  Soude's 
success  as  a  land  speculator  was  sure. 

They  waited  eagerly  for  good  news,  as  soon  as 
he  reached  Emporia.  But  five  weeks  passed — 
no  letter,  no  telegram.  Then  he  walked  in  upon 


I63 


them  one  day,  while  they  were  at  dinner  at  the 
club.  He  would  eat  nothing — he  told  none  of 
his  experiences.  But  he  borrowed  money  to 
take  him  home. 

Louis  drove  him  down  to  the  station  and 
anxiously  suggested  absinthe  and  cognac,  hoping 
to  rouse  him  from  his  defeat. 

"I'm  not  drinking  now,"  said  John  irritably. 

"  And  he  kicked  my  setter  across  the  ferry 
boat,"  Louis  reported,  when  he  came  back. 
"  When  a  gentleman  sets  out  to  make  money  he 
heads  downward,  straight." 

The  General's  chair  had  just  been  carried  to 
the  west  gallery,  following  the  sun,  when  he 
caught  sight  of  a  horse  crossing  the  prairie. 
The  old  man's  eyes  were  as  keen  as  a  hound's. 

"That's  John,  Therese!  Tell  Viny  to  have 
gumbo  for  supper.  He  likes  the  mess!  Coming 
home  to  his  old  dad,  eh  ? "  He  snorted  and 
mumbled  to  himself,  as  John  sprang  from  the 
horse  and  ran  up  the  steps.  "  Well,  sir,  I  looked 
for  you  in  two  weeks!  It  is  six!  " 

"Why,  I  went  to  stay  altogether,  General. 
You  forget." 

"In  Kansas?     Bah!" 

"I  come  back  empty-handed,"  John  said 
gloomily. 

"  Oh,  the  money  ? "  said  his  father,  with  an 
effort  at  recollection.  "  Didn't  make  it,  eh  ? 
That's  unfortunate.  That's  more  cursedly  un 
fortunate  than  you  know.  I'm  going  down  to 
town  myself  to-morrow,  to — so  you  fell  among 
thieves,  eh  ? " 


164 

"No.  They're  as  honest  as  I.  But  they  are 
sharp  and  keen  as  steel.  I  haven't  the  brains. 
I  give  it  up.  I  never  shall  try  again!  " 

John,  recalling  this  old  disappointment  now, 
drew  himself  up  into  a  sitting  posture  with  a  ner 
vous  yawn.  "  I  will  try  again,  and  I'll  not  give 
it  up!  "  he  said.  He  could  succeed — for  Milly. 

Yet  it  hurt  him  to  remember  that  little  Therese 
had  never  had  her  laces  or  balls.  Things  had 
dropped  to  their  old  level,  after  his  spasmodic 
effort.  Therese  made  life  very  jolly  without 
money,  and  he  and  the  General  had  loved  the  girl 
dearly.  The  days  had  galloped  by. 

"And  now  we  three  will  take  Milly  in,"  he 
said,  smiling  to  himself,  as  he  thought  of  the 
welcome  which  Therese  would  give  the  strangers 
to-morrow.  "  Viny  must  have  gumbo— her  gumbo 
is  incomparable,"  he  reflected. 

At  the  next  station  a  portly  old  man  came  into 
the  car.  John  gave  a  shout  of  delight  and 
dragged  him  into  his  seat.  M.  Paramba  was  the 
nearest  neighbor  and  closest  friend  of  the  Soudes  ; 
the  very  man  to  consult  about  his  new  enterprise! 

"Yes,  I  am  going  to  give  your  father  his 
revenge  at  whist,  but  I  can  only  stay  a  couple  of 
days.  What  has  kept  you  so  long  at  Mobile  ? 
We  had  to  play  dummy  all  last  week.  Little 
Therese  plays  a  very  fair  hand  now.  She- 
What  is  the  matter,  John  ?  You  look  distrait. 
Nothing  wrong  at  home,  eh  ?  " 

"  Nothing  that  has  not  been  wrong  for  years. 
You  are  the  man  above  all  others  that  I  wish  to 


i65 


see  to-day,  major.  I  have  a  plan — or — it  is 
hardly  a  plan  yet,"  the  words  tumbling  out  head 
long.  "  I  have  been  a  lazy  dog.  Done  nothing 
since  the  war." 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ?  "  eying  him  with 
vague  alarm. 

"  I  think  I  shall  look  after  things  on  the  plan 
tation  a  little.  That  fellow  Farro " 

"  Oh,  Farro  ? "  M.  Paramba's  face  instantly 
gathered  a  keen  interest. 

"You  have  noticed  that  things  were  going 
wrong,  then  ?  You  are  a  sugar-grower.  You 
know  what  the  plantation  ought  to  yield  ?  " 

"There  is  no  finer  plantation  than  yours  on 
the  Gulf,  John.  Nor  one  that  is  more  skilfully 
handled.  Farro  knows  his  business." 

"  Where  does  the  income  go,  then  ?  " 

"Ah,  where?"  M.  Paramba  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "  That  is  what  every  planter  in 
Attakapas  has  asked  for  years.  The  whole  parish 
is  whispering  about  it.  But  nobody,  not  even  I, 
would  clare  speak  of  it  to  your  father.  Now  that 
you  have  opened  the  matter,  however — why,  it's 
an  outrage,  boy!  The  old  house  is  tumbling  to 
pieces,  and  not  a  picayune  is  spent  in  repairs. 
The  other  ladies  bring  back  fals-lals  from  Orleans 
to  make  their  homes  pretty,  but  Therese,  nothing." 

"I  have  been  extravagant,"  said  John,  redden 
ing.  "The  establishment  is  large " 

"  So  is  mine,  with  half  your  income.  No. 
There  is  a  leak — a  chasm  somewhere  down  which 
the  money  goes  " — shaking  his  head  solemnly. 
"  D'ye  know,  sir,  I  am  tempted  to  suspect  some 


166 


occult  influence  at  work  ?  I  have  heard  of 
inferior  creatures,  like  that  whelp  of  a  mulatto, 
throwing  a  spell  over  their  masters.  Not  voodoo- 
ism  (though  there's  something  in  that,  too)  but— 
eh  ?  What  d'ye  think,  anyway  ?  " 

John  laughed.  "  No,  Farro  is  only  a  cool, 
greedy  beggar,  commonplace  enough.  He  is 
storing  the  money  away  for  himself  no  doubt. 
I've  been  a  fool  to  stand  by  idle  so  long."  He 
was  silent  a  few  minutes,  and  then  said,  lowering 
his  voice,  "  But  you  have  no  idea  how  far  my 
father's  infatuation  for  that  man  goes.  He  stints 
himself  at  every  point  to  give  Farro  money.  He 
gave  up  his  hunters,  you  know;  he  never  goes  to 
his  club  in  town  now.  I  saw  him  a  few  weeks 
ago  looking  longingly  at  a  little  pearl  brooch  for 
Therese  in  a  shop-window  in  Orleans.  But  he 
turned  away  with  a  long  breath,  without  it." 

"  Of  course  then,  sir,"  the  major  said,  "  you  can 
do  nothing.  It  is  not  for  a  son  to  meddle  with 
a  father.  Unless  Farro  could  be  sent  to  the 
whipping-post " 

"  The  day  for  that  is  over,  unfortunately. 
Besides,  the  fellow  gives  me  no  excuse  for  punish 
ment.  He  always  keeps  in  his  place." 

"  Where  did  he  come  from  ?  He  was  not  on 
the  plantation  before  the  war/' 

"  No.  He  belonged  to  my  Uncle  Victor — 
Theresa's  father." 

Major  Paramba  unconsciously  touched  his  hat. 
"A  great  man,  sir!  " 

"So  I  have  been  taught;  I  scarcely  knew  him, 
you  know,"  John  replied. 


i67 


"  There  never  was  such  an  orator  in  this  coun 
try,"  pursued  the  major.  "  He  was  never  known 
to  lose  a  case,  when  he  would  stay  sober  long 
enough  to  attend  to  it.  But  Victor  incessantly 
threw  up  the  law  to  go  to  fighting — wherever 
there  was  a  blow  to  be  struck  for  freedom,  sir. 
Here,  there — all  over  the  world!  He  was  with 
Garibaldi  in  Greece,  with  Walker  in  Nicaragua; 
God  knows  where!  Why,  John,  that  man  ranked 
far  above  Clay  or  Calhoun  for  eloquence  and 
statesmanship.  But  adventure,  duelling,  play 
ing  high — that  was  his  life!  One  day  living  like 
a  Sultan,  entertaining  hundreds  during  the  Mardi 
Gras — the  next  without  a  dollar.  But  always 
gay!  Ah,  boy!  There  were  giants  in  the  land 
in  those  days!  We  have  no  Victor  Soudes 
now." 

John  shook  his  head  mournfully.  The  major 
drew  out  a  silver  flask,  and  they  drank  some 
brandy  in  silence. 

"  Poor  stuff !  "  sighed  Paramba.  "Yes,  I  saw 
your  Uncle  Victor  last  in  December,  '61.  We 
were  in  Paris.  He  had  been  playing  higher  than 
usual.  I,  too.  When  South  Carolina  went  out, 
we  borrowed  money  to  come  home.  I  thought 
the  difficulty  would  easily  be  bridged  over.  But 
Victor  knew  that  war  was  coming.  That  fellow 
could  smell  a  fight  half  round  the  globe.  We 
parted  in  New  Orleans.  He  wanted  to  fit  out  a 
company,  but  had  not  money  to  buy  his  own  uni 
form.  I  heard  of  him  next  year  at  the  head  of  a 
regiment  that  he  had  equipped.  Did  you  not 
see  him  then  ?  " 


168 


. . 


No.  I  was  with  my  brigade  in  Alabama. 
He  was  shot,  you  know,  in  the  first  battle." 

"Yes,  yes!  Louisiana  lost  no  such  son,  sir,  as 
Victor  Soude.  And  this  fellow,  Farro,  you  say, 
belonged  to  him  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  bears  a  strange,  hideous  likeness  to 
him,  too.  But  of  course  I  never  enquired  into 
that.  About  '54,  my  uncle  freed  four  hundred  of 
his  people.  You  must  have  heard  of  it  at  the 
time.  Probably  in  a  fit  of  temper,  or  he  may 
have  been  drinking.  But  this  boy  Farro  refused 
to  leave  his  master  or  to  take  his  free  papers. 
That  was  just  the  sort  of  thing  to  touch  my  uncle. 
He  made  a  major  domo  of  the  fellow.  After  he 
died  my  father  put  him  in  as  overseer.  It  may  be 
that  it  is  for  my  uncle's  sake — this  infatuation  of 
the  General's  for  him.  The  likeness — you  know  ? 
My  father's  feeling  for  his  brother  is  passionate; 
he  will  not  speak  his  name  even  now." 

"I  know  that!  I  know!"  nodding  gravely. 
"  Your  father  always  humored  Victor;  too  much, 
I  used  to  think.  It  will  be  difficult  for  you  to 
broach  this  matter  to  your  father,  John — very 
difficult.  If  I  can  help  you,  I  am  ready  to  back 
you." 

"I  must  put  it  off  for  the  present.  Some 
friends  from  the  North  are  coming  to  us  to 
morrow.  As  it  has  waited  so  many  years,"  said 
John,  with  a  laugh  of  relief,  "  a  day  or  two  more 
can  do  no  harm." 

The  hours  and  minutes  of  the  day  following 
crept  slowly  by  for  Mildred. 


i6g 


Before  leaving  Luxborough  she  had  arranged 
with  Doctor  Weems  that  he  should  privately 
keep  her  advised  of  Mrs.  Joyce's  exact  condition. 
Until  now  his  letters  or  telegrams  had  reached 
her  regularly:  but  to-day  none  came.  In  the 
morning  she  must  go  with  the  others  to  Le  Reve 
des  Eatix.  If  she  only  could  know  that  the 
poor  old  creature  was  at  rest,  she  could  give 
herself  with  that  noble  heritage,  to  him,  in  his 
own  home ! 

Milly  was  no  murderess  at  heart.  "  God  for 
bid,"  she  told  herself  a  hundred  times  that  day, 
"that  I  should  shorten  her  life  by  a  single 
breath !  " 

But  she  watched  the  door  all  day  with  quick, 
furtive  glances.  She  feared  to  leave  the  house 
fora  moment:  she  listened  to  each  step  in  the 
corridor,  and  when  it  passed  without  stopping, 
talked  breathlessly  to  Anne  of  the  tortures  which 
Eliza  Joyce  had  suffered,  and  of  the  relief  which 
death  would  be  to  her. 

The  evening,  the  night  passed.  No  letter,  no 
message. 

Breakfast  was  over:  they  were  to  take  the 
train  in  an  hour.  She  saw  no  possible  chance  for 
delay.  Cousin  Julia,  in  high  good  humor,  brought 
her  maid  to  fold  Milly's  gowns. 

"  Such  a  charming  expedition!"  she  chirped. 
"Mr.  Soude  asked  the  whole  party,  but  only  we 
are  going.  But  the  Soude  house  must  be  enorm 
ous  and  the  menage  much  more  perfect  than  ours 
in  the  North,  to  enable  them  to  bring  in  thirty 
guests  at  a  few  hours'  notice.  I  am  glad  I  en- 


couraged  the  advances  of  that  young  man  at 
first.  I  take  a  lee-tie  credit  to  myself  for  the 
intimacy  and  all  the  results  of  it.  Do  you  hear 
me,  Milly  ?  All  the  results,"  with  a  sly  glance 
and  laugh.  "I  think  I  know  a  lovely  chatelaine 
for  a  great  princely  establishment!  Ah-h  ?" 

"You  are  partial,  cousin  Julia."  Milly's  icy 
politeness  suddenly  drove  Mrs.  Dane  out  of  the 
friskiness  of  youth  into  middle  age.  She  talked 
gravely  of  trains  for  a  moment  and  left  the  room. 

Anne  waited  until  she  was  gone  to  break  the 
silence. 

"Shall  we  stop  in  New  Orleans ?"  she  asked. 

"  Only  for  an  hour,"  Mildred  replied. 

"I  thought "  Anne  ventured  timidly. 

"  Brooke  is  there.  I  thought  he  might  join  us." 

"Brooke  is  not  there.  He  is  to  meet  Mr. 
Mears  at  Birmingham  and  go  on  with  his  work. 
High  time  that  he  did!  He  has  played  the  spend 
thrift  long  enough.  He  cannot  afford  to  idle 
away  any  more  time." 

Anne,  who  was  twisting  up  her  hair,  turned  on 
her.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  Nobody  told  me. 
What  has  he  done  ? " 

"What  is  that  to  you,  child?  Papa  told  me. 
What  do  you  know  of  business  ?  Brooke  has  mort 
gaged  the  Dacre  farm  to  its  full  value  to  pay 
Ned's  gambling  debts.  He  has  stripped  himself 
of  every  penny.  Ned  has  gone  back  to  the 
Soude  plantation.  We  shall  no  doubt  see  him 
to-morrow,  carrying  himself  en  prince !  Brooke 
is  an  idiot.  He  will  never  rise  above  the  level  of 
a  day  laborer  as  long  as  he  shoulders  that  scape- 


grace.  Oh,  for  Heaven's  sake,  Anne,  don't  look 
so  miserable!  What  are  the  Calhouns  to  us? 
As  if  we  hadn't  trouble  enough  of  our  own!  " 

Anne  turned  away  and  arranged  her  hair  in 
silence,  while  the  usually  placid  and  methodical 
Miss  Warrick  tossed  her  gloves  and  collars  into 
the  trunk  with  shaking  fingers. 

She  told  herself  that  the  letter  or  message 
would  soon  follow  her,  but  she  could  not  quiet 
her  quivering  nerves.  Her  fancy  for  playing 
Queen  Cophetua  to  this  man  was  the  first  gleam 
of  romance  in  her  bare,  hard  years,  and  the  delay 
frightened  and  enraged  her. 

A  mail  was  brought  in  just  as  she  and  Anne, 
ready  for  their  journey,  came  out  into  the  cor 
ridor.  A  negro  boy  went  from  door  to  door, 
distributing  the  letters.  Milly  held  out  her 
hand.  He  shook  his  head  and  passed  her. 

"Come,  Anne,"  she  said  sharply.  "  The  car 
riage  is  waiting!  " 

Mrs.  Dane  was  standing  by  a  window  reading 
a  despatch  which  had  just  been  handed  to  her. 
It  was  from  Mr.  Franciscus. 

"Mrs.  Joyce  died  on  Friday,  and  will  be  buried 
to-day.  I  shall  be  present  at  the  reading  of  the 
will  on  behalf  of  the  Warrick  family.  Will  tele 
graph  you  the  result." 

"Come,  Mrs.  Dane,"  called  the  doctor,  "we 
shall  miss  the  train." 

"  In  one  moment.",  She  hurried  to  the  clerk. 
"Send  all  despatches  on  to  me  at  once  in 


172 


General  Soude's  care.  I'm  coming,  Samuel,  I'm 
coming! " 

She  thrust  the  yellow  slip  into  her  pocket, 
with  a  furtive  glance  at  Milly. 

"  No.  She  would  grieve  so  sorely  for  the  old 
woman  !  "  she  thought.  "  Let  her  have  her  happy 
day  with  her  lover." 


CHAPTER   XVI 

THE  sun  was  setting  that  evening,  when  the 
train  drew  up  in  a  cluster  of  wooden  cabins  on 
the  prairie.  The  hamlet  was  there  only  for  the 
convenience  of  the  planters  in  the  parish,  but  it 
made  a  cheerful  little  swagger  of  its  own  in  the 
world.  Each  hut  threw  up  a  huge  sign,  red- 
lettered,  Ste.  Barbe  Station,  Ste.  Barbe  Bazar, 
Hotel  de  Ste.  Barbe:  and  thrust  out  a  hospitable 
pillared  veranda,  and  covered  itself  in  spring 
with  masses  of  yellow  and  pink  roses.  The  salt 
perfume  of  burning  sea-weed  weighted  the  thin 
air — and  hedges  of  the  Cherokee  rose  stretched 
aimlessly  for  miles  across  the  pale  green  prairies. 

John  Soude  boarded  the  train  before  it  stopped. 

"  They  are  all  here  to  welcome  you,  sir,"  he 
said,  grasping  Doctor  Warrick's  hands,  with  a 
furtive,  excited  glance  at  Milly.  It  did  not  suit 
his  French  ideas  of  propriety  to  go  near  her.  No 
jeune  fillc  could  be  made  the  object  of  remark  in 
public,  and  as  for  Milly — that  sacred  creature! 

Outside  was  a  tumult  of  trampling  hoofs  and 
shouting  drivers,  and  whoops  and  yah-yahs  from 
the  swarming  black  piccaninnies.  Ste.  Barbe 
always  turned  out  for  the  train,  to  guy  the 
engineer  and  stare  at  the  passengers.  It  had 
nothing  else  to  do  the  year  round.  But  to-day  it 
was  rampant.  This  was  an  occasion. 


Here  was  the  General  in  his  landau,  and 
Garoche  with  the  van,  a  huge  coach  lined  with 
ragged  yellow  satin,  and  Miss  Therese  herself,  a 
human  chunk  of  good  luck  in  which  every  man, 
child,  and  dog  at  Ste.  Barbe  thought  he  owned  a 
share.  Two  or  three  of  the  other  planters  on  the 
bayou  had  ridden  over  to  greet  the  General's 
guests. 

After  the  train  steamed  away,  the  entire  popu 
lation  looked  on  with  affectionate  interest  as 
the  strangers  were  welcomed  by  the  Soudes: 
even  the  negro  postmaster,  who  could  neither 
read  nor  write,  and  had  been  run  into  office  by 
the  carpet-baggers  to  plague  General  Soud£, 
beamed  down  on  his  old  master  from  the  forge 
door,  delighted  with  the  pomp  of  "de  old 
famblies." 

It  was  the  first  time  since  the  war  that  the 
General  had  met  a  Northerner.  Hence,  despite 
the  heat,  he  had  put  on  his  fur-lined  cloak  of 
state,  and  had  driven  down  to  the  station  to  wel 
come  them.  His  puffs  and  gurgles,  his  lofty  high- 
shouldered  bows  and  waves  of  his  pudgy  hand, 
each  said,  "We  have  drawn  the  sword  against 
each  other.  Behold!  To-day  we  bury  it." 

The  doctor  was  amazed  and  a  little  scared. 
He  did  not  quail,  however,  but  stood  up  stiffly 
before  the  ponderous  mountain  of  flesh,  and 
returned  his  bows  in  kind.  Both  of  the  old  men 
felt,  now  that  they  had  clasped  hands,  that  the 
war  was  over.  North  and  South  to-day  had 
formed  a  league.  Then  the  ladies  held  audience 
on  the  little  rickety  platform,  and  the  General 


175 


presented  his  friends,  Hachettes,  and  Dutrys,  and 
Fontaines,  who  bore  themselves  with  as  stately 
dignity  as  if  they  were  all  at  the  court  of  Madrid. 

Anne's  eyes  sparkled  with  delight  and  fun. 
Nobody  could  have  expected  any  thing  so  fine  as 
this  red  sunshine  and  world  of  flowers,  and  the 
friendly  .good  humor  and  high  punctilio.  The 
soft  clamor  of  their  low,  thick  voices  left  her  no 
time  to  speak.  She  would  like  to  have  kissed 
every  one  of  the  white-haired  old  men,  and  to 
have  sworn  friendship  with  every  young  one. 
Mildred,  to  her  dismay,  stood  coldly  apart, 
answering  in  monosyllables  instead  of  her  usual 
sweet  murmurs. 

Edward  Calhoun  sat  on  the  fence  with  some  of 
the  loungers  about  the  station,  paying  no  attention 
to  his  cousins.  He  knew  that  he  was  a  criminal 
in  the  eyes  of  these  priggish  Warricks  and  Danes. 
They  no  doubt  discussed  him  en  petit  comite  every 
day.  He  had  no  mind  to  play  the  prodigal  son 
and  come  to  beg  for  forgiveness.  Hence  he  sat 
upon  the  fence  with  his  new  comrades,  to  show 
his  indifference.  He  wore  white  flannels  like 
theirs,  and  a  wide  sombrero  of  a  maroon  tint, 
which  set  off  well  his  reddish  curls  and  blue  eyes. 

The  colonels  and  majors  who  had  just  welcomed 
their  new  friends  were  now  busily  quarrelling  as 
to  who  should  first  have  possession  of  them  for  a 
dinner  party. 

11  You  wrill  all  come  to  us  to-night,"  said  Miss 
Soude,  "  and  then  you  can  settle  your  disputes. 
The  flag  is  out."  She  explained  to  Anne  that 
each  family  on  the  Bayou,  whenever  they  had  an 


176 

attraction  in  the  way  of  a  strange  guest,  or  un 
usually  large  red  fish,  or  any  new  plat,  ran  up  a 
flag,  which  was  a  bidding  to  all  the  planters' 
families  to  come  to  dinner  at  once.  "  Of  course 
the  guest  or  the  fish  is  only  the  excuse.  We  must 
see  each  other  every  day." 

"  Ah  !  You  don't  know  how  new  all  this  is  to 
me  !  I  never  felt  so  welcome  in  any  place  be 
fore  !  "  cried  Anne,  pressing  her  palms  tightly 
together  as  she  sat  down  beside  Therese  in  her 
little  cart.  "And  did  you  see  my  father  and 
General  Soude  meet  ?  It  might  have  been 
Charles  and  Francis  in  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of 
Gold.  How  funny  and  dear  they  are  !  " 

Therese  nodded  and  laughed,  with  a  quick 
glance  at  her. 

She  held  in  her  horses  until  the  van  and  the 
landau  had  gone,  filled  with  the  elder  of  the  party 
and  escorted  by  the  horsemen.  It  was  she,  in 
deed,  who  had  ordered  the  little  procession,  but 
without  a  word;  directing  Garoche  where  to 
turn,  and  holding  back  the  escort  of  riders  with 
smiling,  significant  glances. 

Now  Mildred,  too,  saw  that  every-body,  even 
John,  waited  to  take  these  silent  orders  from  the 
young  girl.  She  had  been  under  a  high  tension 
all  day,  baffled  and  disappointed.  This  trifle 
kindled  a  white  heat  of  anger  in  her  usually  ami 
able  soul.  She  was  coming  home — the  bride. 
John  was  the  heir;  she  was  his  wife,  coming  to 
his  house,  her  heart  full  of  love,  ready  to  rain 
down  prosperity  on  it. 

Who  was  this  woman  welcoming  her  with  such 


177 


show  of  hospitality  ?  To  her  own  house,  her  own 
carriage  ?  Even  John  waited  for  a  sign  from 
Therese  before  he  took  a  seat  in  the  old  gig  be 
side  her.  Mildred's  blue  eyes  rested  on  Therese 
with  a  childlike  smile.  She  decided  in  a  very 
short  time  that  that  penniless  dependent  should 
soon  learn  her  own  place. 

"You  should  have  prepared  me  to  meet  Miss 
Soude,"  she  said  sweetly  to  John.  "  You  did  not 
tell  me  that  she  was  so  homely.  It  quite  shocked 
me." 

"  Homely  ?  Therese  ?  "  He  stared  at  her. 
"Why,  she  is  the  only  girl  in  the  family!  Our 
Therese  homely  ? " 

"And  a  cripple,  too?  You  did  not  tell  me 
that:  such  a  pity!  She  limps  quite  perceptibly." 

Soude's  face  burned  a  dark  red.  "Yes,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  We  all  know  that.  But 
never  before  in  my  life  have  I  heard  it  put  into 
words." 

Milly,  frightened,  hastened  to  pour  out  the 
sweet  babble  that  he  loved,  but  he  did  not  hear 
her.  Therese  homely  ?  The  girl  of  the  Soude 
family!  Some  of  his  own  blood  and  life  was  in 
her.  To  hurt  her  was  to  wrench  him  to  the  quick. 

Therese,  with  Anne,  meanwhile,  skimmed 
lightly  past  them,  or  fell  into  the  rear.  The 
drive  was  a  long  one.  Anne  was  soon  chattering 
to  this  strange  girl  as  if  she  had  known  her  from 
her  cradle.  An  odd  freemasonry  between  them 
told  her  at  once  that  Therese  understood  her 
flighty  talk  better  than  Milly  ever  had  done.  She 
was  something  like  Brooke  in  that. 

12 


i78 


"  Did  you  see  Edward  Calhoun  upon  the  fence 
yonder?"  Miss  Soude  said  presently.  ''He  has 
ridden  on  in  advance." 

"I  saw  him — yes,"  said  Anne  dryly. 

"  He  is  my  cousin — yours  also,"  said  Therese. 
"You  did  not  speak  to  him — no?  Poor  boy! 
He  feels  himself  to  be  the  black  sheep  among 
you — oh,  quite  the  black  sheep!  Can  you  not 
forgive  him,  a  little  ?  " 

"  He  has  disgraced  the  family  and  ruined  his 
brother,"  Anne  said  vehemently. 

"Ruined?  Was  it  so  bad  then?  Poor  Ned! 
He  was  born  so.  He  cannot  help  that."  She 
looked  enquiringly  into  Anne's  hard-set  face,  and 
laughed  softly.  "  No.  He  cannot  help  that.  It 
is  so  with  every-body.  One  has  a  crooked  nose, 
and  one  has  an  ugly  temper,  and  Ned — has  a 
flabby  will.  Come,  now,  be  merciful  to  the  poor 
boy.  His  brother  did  not  blame  him." 

"No.  His  brother —  Anne  said  no  more. 

She  sat  looking  out  at  the  monotonous  sweep  of 
prairie,  over  which  low,  rolling  clouds  from  the 
Gulf  were  driven  incessantly.  She  turned  at  last 
suddenly.  "  You  are  very  merciful  to  that  vaga 
bond.  It  is  in  your  nature,  I  see,  to  be  merci 
ful,"  she  went  on  garrulously;  "  it  is  not  in  mine. 
I  never  forgive.  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  try 
to  defend  all  the  weak,  scampish  people  you 
meet.  And  of  course  when  Ned  cheats — 

"One  moment!"  Miss  Soude"  checked  the 
horses,  in  her  sudden  earnestness.  "Edward  is 
weak,  but  not  dishonorable.  That  is  impossible. 
You  forget.  His  mother  was  a  Soude — one  of  us. 


'ITS  ROWS  OF  LIGHTS   GLEAMING  THROUGH  THE  DARKNESS* 


179 


He  could  not  be  dishonorable."  She  gave  a 
quick  little  decisive  nod,  and  flecked  the  horses 
with  her  whip.  They  darted  forward.  In  a 
moment  she  turned,  smiling,  to  point  out  some 
birds  to  Anne,  but  her  lips  were  pale. 

"  If  we  had  been  men,  she  would  have  drawn  a 
pistol  in  defence  of  the  family  honor,"  thought 
Anne,  and  liked  her  companion  better  than  ever. 

"  Yonder  is  the  house,"  said  Miss  Soude  a 
moment  later. 

John  had  forgotten  his  momentary  trouble 
long  before  they  reached  the  house.  He  was 
watching  Milly's  face  breathlessly.  This  was  his 
home.  Would  she  ever  care  for  it  as  he  did  ? 

The  vast  prairie,  an  uneven  sheet  of  pale  green 
in  the  fading  light,  sloped  to  the  Mexican  gulf, 
seamed  with  misty  bayous.  Here  and  there  on 
the  plain  a  congregation  of  gigantic  live-oaks 
gathered  in  council;  long  gray  moss  covering 
them  from  head  to  foot  like  spectral  garments. 

On  the  top  of  the  hill  rose  the  towering  front 
of  the  house,  massive  and  impressive,  its  rows  of 
lights  gleaming  through  the  darkness.  There 
was  a  strange,  uncanny  beauty  in  the  scene  which 
reached  even  Milly's  perceptions. 

"I  feel  as  if  we  were  travelling  through  a 
dream,"  she  said,  thrusting  her  head  forward 
curiously. 

"You  like  it,  then?  Thank  God!  I  was  born 
here,  you  know."  The  place  was  so  dear  to 
him— she  was  so  dear,  that  the  big  lubberly  man 
could  not  control  his  voice  as  he  spoke.  His 
honest  eyes  beamed  down  on  her,  he  found  her 


i8o 


hand  and  held  it  close.  "  I  don't  think  God  ever 
made  a  place  like  it  on  earth — or  a  woman  like 
you!  "  he  said,  gathering  her  into  his  arms  and 
kissing  her. 

Milly's  eyes  were  full  of  tears  when  he  released 
her.  She  was  very  happy,  and  did  not  remember 
for  a  few  minutes  how  happy  John  would  be  when 
she  poured  the  great  fortune  into  his  hands. 
When  she  did  think  of  it,  it  no  longer  seemed  of  so 
much  importance.  The  Soude  estate,  she  decided, 
was  of  enormous  value.  She  and  John  would 
probably  not  need  Mrs.  Joyce's  money,  after  all, 
to  make  their  happiness. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

COUSIN  JULIA  had  borne  herself  with  aplomb 
and  credit  in  visits  to  one  or  two  foreign  courts 
during  her  life,  but  she  wras  perplexed  and  ill  at 
ease  at  General  Soude's  dinner-party  that  night. 

"If  I  understand  any  thing,"  she  told  Doctor 
Warrick,  "  it  is  human  nature.  I  have  got  on 
comfortably  in  my  time  with  Grand  Dukes  and 
Sioux  squaws.  But  this  place  and  these  people 
are  outside  of  my  experience." 

"  I  never  met  more  cordial,  simple  folk,"  the 
doctor  retorted  testily. 

Mrs.  Dane  said  no  more,  but  her  puzzled  gaze 
still  wandered  over  the  lofty  apartments,  which 
were  those  of  a  decayed  palace,  while  the  mildew 
stains  on  the  carved  ceilings  showed  where  the 
rain  yesterday  had  dribbled  through.  The  hang 
ings  were  embroidered  satin  of  the  Louis  XVIII. 
era,  but  they  were  ragged  and  faded;  the  silver 
sconces  held  tallow  candles;  the  linen  napery 
woven  with  the  Soude  crest  was  of  exquisite  fine 
ness,  but  it  was  full  of  holes,  darned  and  patched. 
Here,  on  the  great  glittering  table,  were  Sevres 
plates,  and  there,  stoneware.  Mrs.  Dane  drank 
her  hock  from  a  priceless  Venetian  glass,  and  her 
claret  from  one  which  would  not  cost  a  dime. 
Some  of  the  women  wore  marvellous  old  velvets, 
and  some,  cheap  muslins. 


182 


"But  their  old  point,"  Mrs.  Dane  told  Anne 
afterward,  "  was  a  revelation  to  me!  Southern 
women  may  have  sacrificed  their  husbands  and 
their  happiness  in  the  war,  but  they  held  on  to 
their  laces!  Perfectly  right,  too,  my  dear!  The 
fichu  which  that  old  Spanish  dame  near  me  wore 
was  four  hundred  years  old  if  it  was  a  day.  Just 
the  woman  to  wear  it,  too!  She  looked  as  if  she 
had  the  blood  of  a  hundred  Castilian  hidalgos  in 
her  little  body.  Yet  she  told  Miss  Soude  that  one 
of  her  sons  had  just  found  a  place  as  conductor 
on  a  railway  and  the  other  was  minded  to  set  up 
a  milk-cart;  at  which  they  both  laughed." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  they  laughed,"  said  Anne,  her 
eyes  dancing.  "  I  love  them!  Even  the  old 
women  are  so  gay  and  friendly!  I  "believe  they 
came  smiling  into  the  world,  and  will  go  out 
laughing  and  kissing  their  hands  to  it." 

"I  think  their  chief  quality  is  intolerable  con 
ceit,"  said  Mrs.  Dane  crossly.  "  They  are  so  sure 
of  their  patrician  place  in  the  world  that  they 
are  no  more  ashamed  of  their  milk-carts  and 
stoneware  than  the  Venus  de  Milo  would  be  of 
dust  blown  upon  her." 

"You  are  very  unjust,"  said  Anne. 

She  felt  as  if  these  people  were  a  big  family  to 
whom  she  was  in  some  way  akin.  Had  not  the 
Hachette  girls  told  her  all  about  their  sweet  new 
baby — the  youngest  of  fifteen  ?  Was  she  not  to 
be  driven  over  to-morrow  to  see  it  ?  And  had 
she  not  heard  of  two  engagements  to-night 
with  the  promise  of  all  of  the  details  in  the 
morning  ? 


i83 


The  only  fault  that  she  had  to  find  with  these 
pretty,  babbling  girls  was  that  they  had  set  up 
Edward  Calhoun  as  a  hero.  Ned  posed  willingly 
enough  as  a  young  man  burdened  with  secret 
sorrow.  Even  General  Soude,  observing  that 
Doctor  Warrick  greeted  Ned  coldly,  took  him 
apart,  and  said  to  him  anxiously,  "  Don't  be  hard 
on  the  lad,  sir.  He  has  been  sowing  his  wild 
oats.  Ta — ta!  What  of  that  ?  You  and  I  too, 
once,  perhaps!  He  has  a  nature  so  sensitive,  so 
delicate!  One  must  deal  gently  with  him.  Like 
a  fine  instrument,  easily  jarred,  you  know.  My 
niece  and  I  have  struggled  to  cheer  and  encour 
age  him,  poor  boy!  " 

Naturally,  Ned  was  aggrieved  at  the  sudden 
irruption  of  Danes  and  Warricks  with  their 
bigoted,  sour  notions  into  this  genial  world 
which  he  now  regarded  as  his  own.  He  relished 
keenly  the  unreal  glamour  of  the  scenery  and  of 
the  decayed  old  house:  Viny's  sauces  made  life  a 
happiness,  and  the  General's  rugged  generosity 
and  tenderness  touched  him  sometimes  like  fine 
music  and  brought  tears  of  delight  to  his  eyes. 
He  found  himself  as  comfortable  among  these 
people  whose  habit  it  was  to  be  happy,  as  a  jelly 
fish  afloat  in  a  warm  summer  sea.  The  jelly 
fish,  probably,  admires  the  sun,  though  it  never 
warms  its  own  clammy  body. 

After  dinner  the  young  Hachettes  and  La 
Fontaines,  who  had  voted  Brooke  to  be  brusque 
and  coarse,  clustered  around  the  gentle,  melan 
choly  lad  on  a  moonlit  veranda,  enchanted  with 
his  tinkling  guitar  and  scraps  of  French  chansons, 


i84 


which  he  breathed  forth  in  a  weak  voice  full  of 
pathos. 

Mildred,  who  chanced  to  see  his  little  court, 
gave  a  meaning  smile.  Edward's  day  here  would 
be  short!  She  would  tolerate  no  lazy  parasites 
in  the  house,  either  of  her  own  or  of  the  other 
family. 

It  was  not  a  pleasant  evening  for  Mildred. 
She  had  commanded  John  to  keep  her  secret, 
yet  she  was  secretly  irritated  that  nobody  had 
guessed  it:  that  she  was  received  as  an  ordinary 
guest  and  not  the  bride — the  new  queen,  soon 
to  rule  over  all.  She  was  placed  half-way  down 
the  table  among  the  jeunes  fillcs,  which  she  knew 
to  be  proper  and  right.  But  she  watched  the 
little  brown  girl  who  presided  with  such  an  odd, 
quiet  charm,  with  fierce  dislike. 

"She  has  them  all  under  her  thumb!"  she 
thought.  "  John  watches  her  eye  for  directions 
as  much  as  the  negroes  do.  She  thinks  she  has 
her  place  for  \\lt-plantee  la !  But  I'll  unseat 
her — I'll  unseat  her!  " 

Milly's  love  for  John  Soude  filled  all  her  narrow 
heart,  but  her  intention  to  be  the  legitimate  head 
of  this  household  was  quite  as  strong.  In  a  day  or 
two  she  would  enter  into  possession.  She  would 
make  short  work  then  with  this  complacent 
intruder,  who  held  the  sceptre  now  as  a  matter 
of  course.  Besides,  Mildred  was  a  neat,  thrifty 
housekeeper,  and  she  suspected  that  Therese 
was  quite  the  reverse.  She  saw  the  rough 
patches  on  the  tablecloth,  the  undarned  holes 
in  the  satin  curtains,  and  the  five  lamps  burning 


i85 


where  but  one  was  needed.  She  promised  herself 
a  full  tour  of  inspection  of  the  premises  in  the 
morning. 

John  contrived  to  find  a  minute  with  her,  apart, 
after  dinner. 

"And  so  my  little  girl  is  satisfied  with  her  new 
home  ? "  looking  into  her  face  with  burning  eyes. 
"  I  was  afraid  you  would  think  it  mean  and  shabby. 
But  that  doesn't  matter,  of  course.  There  is  the 
General— you  see  what  he  is.  And  Therese  is— 
Therese!  Nobody  is  like  her.  You  will  be  like 
sisters " 

"Yes;  dear  girl!  "  sighed  Milly,  clinging  close 
to  his  arm. 

"  I  wish  you  would  let  me  speak  to  my 
father,"  John  said  anxiously.  "  To-night — just  a 
word " 

"  Not  yet.     Give  me  a  day " 

"  Well,  you  know  what  is  best.  I  feel  like  a 
traitor  to  him,  though.  I  never  have  secrets 
from  him— or  from  any  body,"  added  stupid  John, 
with  a  laugh. 

"  I  wonder  how  you— you  ever  came  to  care  for 
poor  little  me  ?  "  Milly  said,  suddenly  looking  up 
at  him,  with  a  humility  which  for  the  time  was 
real.  Even  the  kisses  with  which  he  answered 
her  did  not  bring  back  her  smile  nor  drive  away 
the  fierce  contempt  of  herself  which  sometimes 
came  upon  her. 

If  he  ever  found  out  how  little,  how  mean 
she  was!  She  glanced  up  at  him,  her  face 
contorted. 

But  she  did  not  forget  to  make  arrangements, 


i86 


before  they  parted,  for  their  tour  of  inspection  in 
the  morning. 

"  Could  we  not  steal  away  for  an  early  walk  ?  " 
she  said.  "I  have  not  seen  my  home  yet.  I 
wantjw  to  show  it  to  me,  first." 

John  went  to  sleep  that  night,  glowing  with 
delight.  Certainly  darned  curtains  and  wasted 
oil  were  not  in  his  thoughts,  though  in  Milly's 
they  bore  a  large  and  important  part. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  next  day  dawned  soft  and  hazy.  John 
waited  for  Milly  on  one  of  the  verandas.  He 
fancied  that  the  morning  was  waiting  for  her  too; 
it  had  put  on  this  rare,  dewy  splendor  for  her. 
The  old  plantation  surely  never  had  looked  so 
fair!  He  paced  impatiently  up  and  down.  He 
wanted  to  show  her  the  silvery  patches  of  torn 
mist  still  lying  on  the  prairie,  and  the  dew  shim 
mering  on  the  gray  robes  of  the  trees,  and  the 
color  of  the  purple  fleur-de-lys  that  banked  the 
creeping  black  lagoons.  It  seemed  as  if  all  these 
things  were  happy  with  him  to-day.  There  were 
red  lights  on  the  surf  that  beat  upon  the  distant 
beach,  as  if  even  the  waves  were  glad,  and  brought 
good  tidings  from  some  other  part  of  this  joyful 
world. 

John  was  pleased  with  his  little  fancies.  They 
seemed  genuine  poetry  to  him.  Why  did  she  not 
come  so  that  he  could  tell  them  to  her  ? 

Presently  Miss  Warrick  appeared  on  the 
veranda,  her  delicate  blue  draperies  fluttering 
about  her,  her  fair  curly  hair  blown  by  the  wind. 
He  ran  to  meet  her.  How  soft  and  clean  and 
rosy  she  was!  But  he  did  not  show  her  the  red 
gleams  nor  the  mist.  His  fancies  somehow  sud 
denly  seemed  foolish  to  him. 

"No,   do    not   let   us  go    wandering  over    the 


i88 


prairie,"  she  said.  "  I  saw  the  plantation  quite 
thoroughly  as  we  drove  through  it.  I  heard 
judge  Hachette  tell  my  father  it  was  most  skil 
fully  worked.  You  have  a  negro  overseer  ?  " 

"A  mulatto,  Farro." 

"  /  shall  call  him  Mr.  Farro.  I  mean  to  do  all 
I  can  for  the  freedmen.  He  is  faithful,  then  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes!  Faithful  enough,"  John  replied,  with 
a  grim  laugh. 

"Then  we  need  not  concern  ourselves  with  the 
plantation  as  yet.  But — show  me  the  house, 
John — my  home!"  She  looked  up,  with  all  the 
tender  meaning  of  the  word  in  her  eyes. 

But  the  next  minute  she  put  her  eyes  on  guard: 
she  needed  a  sharp  sight  to-day. 

"  There  are  no  farming  operations  near  the 
house  ?  "  she  said,  clinging  to  his  arm. 

"  No.  All  this  land  in  sight  is  Therese's 
domain.  She  follows  out  her  own  fancies,  here." 

"  Not  even  a  garden  ?  I  cannot  imagine  a  farm 
without  a  garden  " — glancing  superciliously  at  the 
flowers,  which  did  not  grow  in  beds  and  borders 
as  elsewhere,  but  in  fields:  masses  of  mignonette 
and  sweet-peas  and  poppies  shouldering  the  walls 
of  the  house,  and  stretching  down  into  the 
orchards.  There  was  an  atmosphere  of  lazy, 
heedless  munificence  about  the  place  which 
girded  Milly's  economic  soul. 

"  I  should  think  Miss  Soude  would  at  least 
have  a  poultry  yard,  and  vegetables?" 

"The  negroes  of  the  parish  bring  her  these 
things  to  sell.  They  depend  on  their  little 
earnings." 


I89 


"And  they  cheat  her,  probably  ?" 

"Oh,  that,  of  course,"  John  laughed. 

Milly  nodded  significantly.  "  We  will  see  to 
that  too,"  she  murmured,  and  then  briskly 
stepped  along  the  slope,  glancing  from  side  to 
side  at  the  sweep  of  velvet  turf  through  which 
the  lazy  streams  oozed  their  way  down  to  the 
Gulf. 

"  If  I  were  your  farmer,"  she  said,  turning  her 
head,  "I  should  try  high-grade  cattle  on  this 
land.  But  it  is  given  up  to — nothing!  Such 
hedges!  Look,  John!  Messes  of  roses  and  black 
berry-bushes  and  birds  and  worms!  Neat  barbed 
wire  fences,  now  ?  They  would  save  so  much 
ground." 

John  laughed,  lounging  after  her,  listening 
bewildered,  yet  fondly  as  to  a  child's  chatter. 

Milly  led  the  way  to  a  point  from  which  the 
whole  of  the  house  could  be  seen. 

The  huge  structure  occupied  three  sides  of 
a  square,  in  which  had  once  been  a  fountain  and 
statues.  But  the  fountain  was  dried  long  ago, 
and  the  stone  gods  were  green  with  mould.  The 
house,  which  was  imposing  at  night,  by  day 
bared  its  age  and  decay  shamelessly.  There  was 
no  effort  at  concealment.  The  front  of  the 
building  was  entire,  and  in  tolerable  order.  But 
the  great  side  wings  were  roofless.  Masses  of 
climbing  roses,  cloth  of  gold  and  white,  could 
not  hide  the  rotting  timbers  nor  the  broken  win 
dows,  some  of  which  were  stuffed  with  straw 
and  rags.  The  great  ball-room,  its  frescoed 
nymphs  yellow  with  mildew,  was  used  as  a 


i  go 


laundry,  and  a  sow  and  her  pigs  rooted  tran 
quilly  under  the  gallery. 

Milly's  lips  closed  tightly,  and  her  blue  eyes 
were  full  of  calculation,  as  she  walked  silently 
around  the  ruins.  Suddenly  she  stooped.  "What 
is  this  house  built  of  ?  I  never  saw  such  bricks. 
They  are  rounded  in  front,  and  each  one  has  a 
different  figure  on  it." 

John  gave  an  uneasy  shrug.  "  You  have  keen 
eyes.  My  grandfather  had  beds  of  clay  on  a 
plantation  in  Mississippi,  and  the  slaves  made  the 
bricks  by  hand,  one  by. one,  when  the  field  work 
was  over.  It  always  seemed  a  cruel  business  to 
me.  Each  man  and  woman  put  a  sign  on  their 
bricks.  Poor  nameless  wretches,  trying  to  be 
remembered  after  they  were  dead!  I  hate  to 
look  at  these  walls,  when  I  think  of  them!" 

11  You  are  too  fanciful,"  she  said,  laughing  as  she 
ran  her  finger  curiously  over  the  bricks.  "  Here 
is  one  with  a  heart,  and  this  has  a  knife,  and  ever 
so  many  have  crosses!  How  funny!  Such  ridic 
ulous  creatures!  People  with  colored  skins  some 
how  always  are  ridiculous  to  me.  I  think  that 
your  grandfather  was  quite  right,  though,  to 
get  the  full  amount  of  work  from  his  slaves. 
Only,  if  he  had  trained  them  to  make  bricks 
properly,  it  would  have  paid  him  better.  But 
understand  me,  John,"  gravely,  "  I  don't  approve 
of  slavery.  It  was  a  great  moral  evil,  in  my 
opinion." 

"Very  well,"  said  John,  his  eyes  twinkling. 
"We  won't  argue  about  it,  little  girl."  Nothing 
could  be  more  delightful,  he  thought,  than  a  pretty 


SHE    RAN    HER    FINGER    CURIOUSLY    OVER   THE  BRICKS  " 


woman  prattling  of  these  high  matters  which  only 
men  could  understand. 

Milly  drew  him  along  the  path.  "  There  is  a 
little  group  of  huts — quite  a  village.  Who  live 
there  ?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  I  hardly  know.  Old  maumers  and 
uncles — who  were  too  decrepit  to  go  with 
their  children  when  they  ran  away  to  Butler's 
army." 

"Who  takes  care  of  them  ?  " 

"  The  General — Therese,  rather.  She  gathered 
them  all  together,  close  under  her  eye." 

"Their  children  should  be  made  to  support 
them,"  said  Milly  decisively.  "  This  lax  almsgiv 
ing  is  a  mistake,  always." 

"  It  would  be  a  mistake  for  me  to  turn  out  an 
old  horse  that  had  served  me  to  die  by  the  road 
side,"  said  John  coldly. 

Milly  glanced  at  him  quickly  and  hurried  on. 
"That  is  a  pretty  cottage.  Who  lives  there?" 
ohe  said. 

"  An  old  neighbor  of  ours  who  went  to  the  dogs 
after  the  war.  Took  to  opium.  My  father  found 
him  in  New  Orleans,  absolutely  barefooted,  and 
brought  him  home.  Therese  fitted  up  that  little 
cabin  for  him.  She  keeps  him  busy  and — sober. 
Oh,  she  is  a  regular  martinet!  Won't  allow  him 
even  a  drop  of  claret!  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  with 
a  chuckle,  "that  our  Therese  does  not  agree  with 
you  as  to  charity.  Her  system  is  to  gather  a  lot 
of  incapables  and  to  pay  them  wages  to  keep  up 
their  self-respect.  Her  kitchen  is  filled  with  the 
lame,  the  halt,  and  the  blind." 


Milly's  lips  were  compressed  more  tightly,  but 
she  said  nothing. 

Stopping  at  the  end  of  the  building,  she  looked 
back  at  it  thoughtfully  a  while.  Then,  her  face 
flushing,  she  turned  to  Soude: 

"A  very  little  money  would  restore  it!  It 
has  grand  capabilities,  John  !  It  could  easily  be 
made  into  a  palace  for  us  !  " 

"Do  you  want  a  palace,  my  darling?"  said 
John  soberly. 

But  Milly  was  quivering  with  excitement.  The 
story  of  her  boundless  fortune  trembled  on  her 
lips.  If  the  moment  had  only  come  to  pour  it 
into  his  hands  ! 

"A  little  would  make  it  habitable.  But  if  we 
had  a  great  deal  we  could  bring  a  Northern  archi 
tect  and — towers  at  this  end  now— an  archway 
here — Gothic  windows — why,  you  would  not 
know  the  old  house  !  " 

"I  am  afraid  my  father  would  not  know  it," 
said  John  gravely.  "  He  spends  days  in  planning 
how,  when  he  has  the  money,  he  will  restore  it 
again,  every  brick  and  beam  in  place  as  it  was 
when  he  was  a  boy.  You  would  scare  him  and 
Therese  with  your  towers  and  arches." 

Milly  gave  a  little  smile  of  defiance  as  they 
turned  to  go  in.  John  watched  her  uneasily. 
"I  really  care  very  little  about  money,"  he 
said  anxiously,  after  a  pause.  "But  I  mean 
to  go  to  work  and  make  it  for  you,  dearest. 
You  shall  have  your  palace  or  a  little  nest. 
It  does  not  matter  which  to  us,  if  we  have  each 
other." 


193 


Milly,  as  she  ran  up  the  steps,  looked  back, 
saucy  and  sparkling.  "  I  prefer  the  palace,  sir," 
she  said.  "  And  you  will  not  have  to  work  for 
the  great  fortune.  '  Whistle  and  it  will  come  to 
you,  my  lad ! ' "  she  sang,  tossing  him  a  kiss 
merrily,  and  then  disappeared. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

MRS.  DANE  sat  with  a  knitted  brow  during  the 
long,  dawdling  breakfast.  She  had  fully  expected 
to  find  a  telegram  from  Mr.  Franciscus  beside 
her  plate.  When  at  last  the  interminable  courses 
of  fruit,  fish,  and  hot  cakes  were  ended,  she  went 
out  with  the  group  of  chattering  girls  to  the 
broad  shaded  veranda  and  sat  silent,  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  levee,  a  high,  crooked  road  which 
wound  between  the  pools  and  bayous  across  the 
prairie,  waiting  for  the  messenger  who  was  to 
bring  the  great  tidings. 

A  queer  old  caleche  came  up  the  levee  pres 
ently,  but  it  only  brought  the  Hachette  girls, 
who  came  to  carry  Anne  away  to  see  the  baby. 
Horsemen  followed,  by  twos  and  threes,  but  they 
were  some  of  the  neighbors  from  ten  or  fifteen 
miles  distant,  who  had  dropped  in  to  know  how 
the  ladies  had  slept. 

Cousin  Julia  listened  to  the  gay  gossip  and 
laughed  with  the  others,  but  her  black  eyes  did 
not  relax  their  keen  watch  for  an  instant.  Her 
nervousness  increased  as  the  morning  wore  on. 
If  a  letter  or  message  should  reach  Ste.  Barbe 
for  me,"  she  asked  Miss  Soude  at  last,  "  it  would 
be  immediately  forwarded,  of  course  ?" 

"  No;  not  of  course  at  all,"  Therese  said,  smil 
ing.  "  Simon,  the  postmaster,  will  probably  send 


195 


it,  if  any  one  chances  to  come  over.  But  I  do 
not  know  whether  any  one  will  chance  to  come 
over  to-day.  And  sometimes  Simon  forgets  to 
send  it  ;  "  and  she  proceeded  to  disentangle  her 
floss  with  the  calm  of  a  woman  to  whom  letters 
and  despatches  were  matters  of  no  possible 
import. 

It  was  Milly's  soft  voice  that  answered. 
"Then  I  must  ask  you,  Miss  Soude,  to  order  me 
a  horse  and  cart.  I  expect  letters,  and  I  will 
drive  over  for  them." 

"Certainly.  I  will  drive  you  both,"  said 
Therese,  nodding  lazily.  "  It  will  be  a  good  way 
to  kill  the  morning.  No,  John,  we  do  not  want 
you  with  us." 

John,  when  the  wagon  was  brought  up,  helped 
them  into  it,  joking  about  the  energy  of  ladies  in 
business  affairs.  "I'll  wager  Miss  Warrick  ex 
pects  a  new  pattern  for  her  embroidery,  or  a — a 
hat-posy,"  he  said,  looking  fondly  up  into  her  face. 

She  smiled  down  at  him.  He  seemed  very 
young  and  stupid  to  her.  If  he  could  guess  the 
meaning  of  the  letter  that  she  expected!  The 
enormous  interests  which  she  soon  would  have  to 
look  after,  the  real  estate,  the  bonded  property! 
For,  though  Milly  meant  to  give  him  the  whole 
of  her  fortune,  to  pour  it  into  his  hands,  as  she 
said,  she  always  thought  of  managing  every 
dollar  of  it  herself. 

Cousin  Julia  asked  no  questions,  but  she 
watched  Mildred  wistfully.  Did  she  too  expect 
to  hear  from  Eliza  Joyce?  If  the  fortune  came 
to  her,  what  would  she  do  with  it  ?  Would  she 


give  Anne  her  share  ?  How  much  would  she 
consider  a  reasonable  share  for  Anne  ? 

Mrs.  Dane  discussed  flowers  and  snakes  as  they 
drove  over  the  green  slopes  with  Therese,  who 
had  an  intimate  acquaintance  with  all  kinds  of 
wild  things,  but  she  watched  Milly's  gentle  eyes 
speculatively,  all  of  the  time.  Her  father,  of 
course,  she  would  provide  for.  But  what  would 
she  do  for  Anne  ? 

Mildred's  energetic  action  this  morning  had 
pricked  John  with  a  desire  to  be  up  and  doing 
also.  He  must  uproot  Farro,  and  that  soon. 
Why  not  to-day  ?  He  lighted  a  fresh  cigar  and 
looked  at  the  hammock.  No  !  If  it  must  be 
done  at  all,  the  sooner  the  better. 

Besides,  there  really  was  nothing  else  to  be 
done  just  now.  The  other  men  had  gone  to  the 
lake  to  fish  until  luncheon.  Doctor  Warrick,  with 
his  drag-net  and  tin  box,  was  busy  with  the  green 
scum  on  the  bayou. 

Farro  was  in  the  stables.  He  would  drop  in 
and  tell  him  that  he  would  assume  full  charge  of 
the  plantation  next  Monday,  and  then  join  his 
father  and  Paramba  and  explain  what  he  had 
done.  The  whole  affair  would  be  settled  in  a  few 
moments;  he  would  put  on  the  harness  for  his 
life's  work,  while  Milly  was  bringing  her  fal-lals 
from  Ste.  Barbe. 

It  was  with  a  half  smile  of  tender  meaning  that 
he  lounged  into  the  stables.  Farro  was  not  there. 
Surely,  there  were  no  stables  so  clean  in  Louisi 
ana  !  and  none  so  empty!  He  glanced  down  the 
long  rows  of  stalls.  The  Soudes  had  owned  a 


'97 


famous  racing  stud  before  the  war;  the  names  of 
seven  champions  of  the  turf  still  were  on  the 
silver  plates  over  their  vacant  stalls.  One  after 
another  had  been  sold  by  the  General  at  Farro's 
instigation.  John  surveyed  the  few  horses  which 
were  left,  swore  at  them  under  his  breath  as 
worthless  beasts,  and  took  his  way  to  the  Works 
with  quicker  steps.  The  family  had  been  dis 
graced  by  the  rule  of  this  mulatto  long  enough. 
It  was  high  time,  as  Paramba  had  said,  that  he 
took  the  matter  in  hand. 

The  Works  and  the  quarters  of  the  men  wore 
an  exceptional  air  of  neatness  and  prosperity. 
John  had  often  been  congratulated  in  New 
Orleans  upon  the  reputation  of  the  plantation. 
No  sugar  brought  as  high  a  price  in  the  market 
as  that  of  the  Reve  des  Eaux. 

"  He  knows  how  to  make  the  money  !  "  Soude 
muttered,  as  he  walked  slowly  to  Farro's  office. 
"  Chut!  He  can  go  on  making  it,  but  I  will 
spend  it.  He  must  content  himself  now  with  a 
salary  instead  of  the  earnings." 

He  climbed  a  rickety  ladder,  and  reached  a  loft 
in  which  stood  a  high  desk  and  an  office  stool. 
Before  the  desk  a  man  stood  writing.  He  looked 
up  when  Soude  entered  and  continued  to  look  at 
him  for  an  instant  without  speaking,  but  that  was 
the  only  sign  of  the  consternation  which  he  doubt 
less  felt.  Then  he  quickly  removed  his  hat,  and 
humbly  motioned  the  young  man  toward  the 
stool. 

"So  this  is  your  den,  Farro  ?  "  John  said,  lean 
ing  carelessly  against  the  jamb  of  the  door. 


I98 


"Yes,  M's  John.  You  have  never  been  here 
before,"  the  overseer  said  submissively. 

"No.  I  shall  come  oftener  now."  John 
glanced  at  the  man  curiously,  thinking  that  he 
was  but  a  mean  little  rat,  after  all,  to  have  gained 
such  power. 

The  mulatto  was  past  middle  age,  but  his  size 
was  that  of  a  stunted,  lean  boy.  There  was  an  odd 
disagreeable  lack  of  color  or  definite  significance 
about  him.  His  skin  was  pallid  and  covered 
with  brown  splotches  ("as  if,"  John  thought, 
"the  negro  in  him  were  fading  out!");  his  eyes 
were  pale  blue,  staring  vaguely  through  reddish 
lashes;  his  hair,  hanging  long  and  lank  behind 
his  ears,  was  of  the  same  sandy  color.  "Like 
my  Uncle  Victor's,"  John  remembered.  He 
wore  a  long  duster  of  faded  cotton,  and  his  hat 
was  a  dirty  white  felt.  He  held  it  now  in  both 
hands,  as  he  stood  before  the  young  man.  A 
singular  fact  about  this  freedman  was  that  while 
he  had  never  unlearned  the  manners  of  the  slave, 
his  voice  and  pronunciation  were  those  of  an 
educated  white  man. 

Soude,  observing  the  fellow  now  more  critically 
than  he  had  ever  done  before,  was  struck  by  this 
peculiarity.  That  and  the  likeness  to  his  Uncle 
Victor  influenced  him  in  his  attack  upon  him. 
Instead  of  charging  him  with  his  crimes  as  he 
had  meant  to  do,  he  stood  looking  at  him  with  a 
pitying  contempt. 

"Poor  devil  !  "  he  said  to  himself  once  or 
twice,  before  he  repeated  aloud,  "  Yes,  I  mean 
to  come  here  oftener  in  future." 


199 


"  To  the  Works  ?  Yes,  M's  John.  I  often  won 
dered  you  didn't  take  an  interest  in  the  Works. 
Would  you  like  to  see  the  new  engine,  now,  sir  ?" 

"No.  I  don't  care  for  machinery  of  any  kind. 

I  intend "  He  looked  up  at  the  overseer. 

Farro  was  watching  him  intently,  curious  to 
know  his  errand.  The  candid  expression  on  his 
mean  face  startled  John.  He  might  be  a  thief, 
but  his  smile  was  kind  and  sincere. 

"  A  gentleman — one  of  us  !  "  flashed  through 
Soude's  brain. 

Bah  !  He  made  haste  angrily  to  say  what  he 
had  to  say. 

"I  know  nothing  about  machinery.  I  am  quite 
willing  to  leave  the  management  of  the  Works — 
men  and  engines — to  you.  I  am  satisfied  with 
the  way  you  have  managed  them." 

"But,  there  is  something  you  are  not  satisfied 
with,  M's  John  ? "  the  overseer  said  gravely. 

John  knew  him  to  be  a  miserable  negro  thief, 
yet  he  hesitated  and  answered  him  with  respect, 
almost  against  his  will. 

"  I  make  no  charges  now.  I  mean  to  examine 
farther.  I  think  it  would  be  proper  that  one  of 
the  family  should  examine  regularly  into  the 
income  and  outgo  of  the  plantation." 

Farro  nodded  slowly.  "  It  would  seem  proper, 
in  ordinary  circumstances.  On  this  planta 
tion " 

"  There  are  no  circumstances  which  can  make 
it  fit  that  you  should  hold  control  on  this  planta 
tion,  as  you  have  done,"  John  interrupted  sternly. 
"  On  next  Monday  I  intend  to  take  charge  of  the 


200 


books.     You  will  be  paid  a  salary  thereafter,  and 
your  receipts  will  be  confined  to  that.'* 

"  Salary  ?  I  have  never  received  a  salary,  I 
believe,"  Farro  said,  with  a  queer  smile.  He  was 
silent  a  moment,  looking  eagerly  into  John's  face. 
"  You  have  not  told  General  Soude  your  inten 
tion  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  No.  But  I  shall  do  so  to-day.  He  will  agree 
with  me."  What  if,  after  all,  his  father  took  part 
with  the  mulatto?  "He  will  agree  with  me," 
John  said  again  loudly. 

"  I  hope  he  will,  M's  John,"  the  overseer  said. 
"It  would  be  better  if  he  did."  He  turned 
mechanically  to  the  books,  and  shut  them.  "  It 
would  be  better  if  he  did,"  he  said  again  in  a  low 
tone,  as  if  reasoning  with  himself. 

John  felt  as  if  there  was  no  more  to  be  said. 
He  had  made  the  attack  and  there  had  been  no 
resistance;  the  man  had  not  even  resented  the 
hint  of  his  guilt.  Yet,  as  Soude  stumbled  down 
the  rickety  ladder,  it  was  with  a  sense  of  defeat. 

As  he  walked  down  the  levee  homeward,  it  was 
not  of  Farro's  thefts  that  he  thought,  large  as  he 
believed  them  to  be,  but  of  Farro  himself. 

"That  fellow  has  great  ability  !  "  he  said  to  him 
self.  "  I  see  it  in  the  gleam  of  his  eye.  And  his 
hair — it  is  the  very  color  of — of  Therese's  !  "  His 
jaws  shut  tightly,  as  he  stamped  along,  his  head 
bent,  kicking  the  lumps  of  mud  down  into  the  bayou. 
"God  !  To  think  of  a  man  like  my  Uncle 
Victor  shut  up  in  the  same  skin  with  a  negro  ! 
That's  hard  luck  !  "  he  muttered,  stretching  out 
his  arms  with  a  groan. 


CHAPTER  XX 

JOHN  was  more  moved  by  this  talk  with  Farro 
than  he  cared  to  acknowledge  to  himself.  He 
resolved  not  to  broach  the  matter  to  his  father 
until  after  luncheon,  when  he  should  be  cooler. 

The  messengers  to  Ste.  Barbe  returned  "  with 
out  letters,"  as  Therese  announced  gayly. 

"What  can  letters  matter?"  John  whispered,  as 
he  lifted  Mildred  from  the  wagon  and  looked 
into  her  pale  strained  face.  "  What  do  you  want 
with  letters  ?  Have  you  not  me,  my  darling  ? " 

After  luncheon  was  over,  seeing  that  she  was 
still  pale  and  silent,  he  strolled  with  her  down  to 
the  orange  grove,  trying  to  amuse  her,  but  in 
vain. 

In  the  evening  there  was  a  dinner  at  the 
Dutry  plantation.  Hence  it  was  midnight  before 
John  was  free  to  go  to  his  father  and  tell  him  of 
his  resolve  to  oust  Farro. 

Garoche  was  in  the  habit  of  serving  a  late 
supper  for  the  General  and  some  chosen  crony, 
"to  ensure  comfortable  sleep." 

John  therefore  went  to  the  gallery  outside  of 
his  father's  private  rooms,  and  throwing  himself 
down  on  the  steps,  stretched  out  his  legs,  clasped 
his  hands  behind  his  head,  and  waited  for  him. 
After  a  few  moments  of  blissful  quiet  it  occurred 
to  him  that  he  would  eat  supper  first,  before 


202 


broaching  this  unpleasant  business.  Paramba 
would  probably  come  in,  and  it  would  be  much 
easier  to  drink  and  smoke  with  the  two  old  men, 
as  he  had  done  a  thousand  times,  than  to  grapple 
with  problems  of  business  and  marriage. 

The  moon  was  mounting  the  sky,  and  the  great 
plain  before  him,  darkened  here  and  there  with 
its  groves  of  ancient  trees,  lay  motionless  in  the 
white  light  like  a  land  of  enchantment.  As  John 
looked  at  it  the  slow  tears  rose  to  his  eyes. 

God  had  made  it  for  her — her:  that  he  could 
make  her  happy  in  it.  He  did  not  hear  his 
father,  who  came  out  on  the  gallery  with  his  pipe 
and  sat  down  behind  him:  but  the  old  man  was 
watching  him,  his  red  eyes,  peering  through 
folds  of  fat,  growing  more  uneasy,  as  the  silence 
was  prolonged. 

He  leaned  forward  at  last  and  touched  John 
on  the  back. 

"  What  has  happened,  boy  ?  Something  has 
hurt  you  ?" 

"  Me  ?  No!  "  John  laughed  to  himself. 
"Nothing  could  hurt  me  now,  I  think." 

"What  has  happened?"  The  general  bent 
closer,  curious.  "You  did  not  use  to  have 
secrets  from  the  old  man,  John." 

"  No,  father."  John's  face  was  aglow  with  the 
whole  story,  but  he  remembered  Milly's  com 
mand  and  checked  himself.  "In  a  few  days  I 
can  tell  you  all,  sir.  Just  trust  me  till  then." 
He  edged  along  the  step  until  his  broad  back 
leaned  against  his  father's  knee.  "I  was  think 
ing  just  now  that  there  was  no  more  beautiful 


203 


home  in  the  world  than  this,  and  that  when  I 
bring  her  to  it " 

"Her?" 

The  General  sat  upright,  staring  at  him.  "  Do 

you  mean Are  you  thinking  of — a  wife, 

John?" 

"Why  not,  sir?"  John  laughed  consciously. 
"  I  am  old  enough  for  such  thoughts,  surely." 

"  Certainly,  certainly!  "  General  Soude  pushed 
him  away,  rose,  walked  to  the  door  unsteadily, 
and  came  hurriedly  back.  "  Pardon  me,  my  son. 
You  startled  me.  I  did  not  receive  your  intima 
tion  as  I  ought.  But  you  have  never  spoken  of 
marriage.  I  thought  you  had  resolved  never  to 
marry.  You  startled  me — greatly." 

"  It  seemed  as  if  you  must  know,  father — as  if 
every-body  who  has  seen  her  would  know  that  I 
could  not  help  but  love  her.  I  never  have  talked 
of  women  and  marriage  as  other  men  do,  but — I 
am  not  different  from  other  men." 

"  I  have  thought  of  your  marriage.  But  I 
expected  you  to — I  did  not  think  you  would  go 
far  afield  to  find  a  wife,"  his  father  said,  under  his 
breath. 

But  John  was  not  listening.  He  was  looking 
at  the  broken  windows  of  the  house,  at  the  pigs 
asleep  under  the  gallery. 

"  I  am  going  to  work  now,  sir,  to  make  money, 
to  repair  the  old  house.  It  would  be  a  beautiful 
home  for  her,  if " 

"  If  ?  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  "  cried  the 
General  vehemently.  "  We've  been  short  of 
money  since  the  war — yes.  But  we  will  soon  set 


204 


things  to  rights!  You  and  I,  down  at  Orleans! 
We'll  go  down  to-morrow!  You  shall  have  her, 
boy!  You  shall  have  her!  " 

John  put  his  hand  on  his  father's  knee.  "Yes, 
if  she  is  to  be  won,  I'm  going  to  win  her,"  he 
said  simply. 

General  Soude  sank  back  in  his  chair.  He 
actually  meant  it  ?  It  was  no  passing  whim.  He 
never  had  thought  of  John  as  marrying  a  stranger. 
How  could  any  woman  but  Therese  come  into 
this  house  and  not  guess  its  miserable  secret? 

Why  had  he  hidden  it  from  John  ? 

If  he  had  been  told  years  ago  he  would  have 
been  used  to  it  in  his  life  by  this  time,  as  men 
grow  used  to  inherited  incurable  disease.  He 
would  never  have  thought  of  bringing  a  stranger 
to  pry  and  discover 

Ah!  Perhaps  it  was  not  a  stranger?  Per 
haps 

"John!  "  he  called  hoarsely,  and  when  his  son 
turned  to  him,  he  caught  him  by  both  hands, 
looking  up  eagerly  into  his  face.  "  It  is — it  is 
Therese  ? " 

"Therese?" 

John  drew  back.  His  face  looked  colorless  in 
the  moonlight.  "/  marry  Therese  ?  " 

"No,  no!  I  beg  your  pardon,  mon  cher,  I  see  it 
is  folly.  But  I  thought  you  were  very  fond  of  her." 

"  Yes.     Not — not  in  that  way,"  he  stammered. 

"No.  Not  in  that  way.  I  understand.  For 
give  me." 

John  walked  up  and  down  the  veranda. 
"Therese  ?  "  he  whispered,  again  and  again. 


205 


The  General  meanwhile  wriggled  impatiently 
on  his  chair,  muttering  oaths  at  women  in  general 
and  eying  John  furtively.  There  was  good  warm 
blood  flowing  through  the  mass  of  fat.  His  son 
was  the  one  thing  dear  to  him. 

Why,  he  had  lifted  that  big  fellow,  a  baby,  out 
of  his  dead  mother's  arms,  and  sworn  to  make 
every  day  of  his  life  happy!  And  now  he  wanted 
to  blast  it,  to  rob  him  of  all  his  birthrights  of 
manhood! 

But  to  bring  a  stranger  into  this  house!  What 
would  Farro  say  ? 

He  would  keep  the  secret  no  longer.  He  would 
tell  John  all,  now.  Perhaps  the  boy  would  help 
him  to  bear  the  burden.  "  God  knows,  I'm  tired 
of  it!"  the  old  man  muttered,  looking  at  John,  at 
the  prairie,  with  a  groan. 

He  would  tell  him — now. 

When  John  sat  down  near  him  again  he  leaned 
forward,  and  touched  him. 

"  My  son,"  he  said.  But  the  fumes  of  the 
turtle-stew  came  from  the  room  inside.  Garoche 
was  lighting  the  lamps.  The  old  man's  courage 
balked  at  the  effort  and  sank  down.  John  was 
looking  at  the  dim  savannas  with  quiet,  happy  eyes. 

"He  is  thinking  of  his  sweetheart,"  thought  the 
General,  laughing.  "  I  used  to  lie  around  thinking 
of  Madeleine  that  way.  John  ?  "  He  coughed 
diffidently.  "  Is  she — a  fine  woman  ?  As  to 
figure,  now  ?  Your  mother  had  the  finest  arms 
and  ankles  in  St.  Mary's.  I  hope  she " 

"  Supper,  sah,"  said  Garoche. 

John  helped  his  father  to  rise.     He  only  nodded 


206 


and  smiled  for  answer.  He  had  been  used  to  dis 
cuss  the  fine  points  of  all  the  beauties  of  New 
Orleans.  But  to  talk  of  Mildred  as  if  she  were  a 
horse! 

The  General  did  not  press  the  question.  He 
never  talked  when  eating.  You  lost  the  flavor  of 
a  dish  by  such  folly,  he  said.  Wit  and  wisdom 
should  come  in  with  the  cigars,  but  the  meal 
itself  was  too  important  to  be  damaged  by  them. 
He  munched  away  in  silence,  growling  orders 
to  Garoche,  ,who  anxiously  watched  his  every 
mouthful. 

John  was  the  son  of  his  father.  The  turtle 
and  the  famous  Soude  sherry  cleared  the  land 
scape  of  his  whole  future.  Major  Paramba  joined 
them,  and  he  and  John  gossiped  of  the  Dutry 
dinner  and  the  ball  to-morrow,  in  an  under-tone, 
until  the  General  had  finished  his  supper. 

"Where  have  you  been,  Paramba  ?  "  he  asked  at 
last.  "  You  were  gone  for  a  week." 

"  I  thought  you  would  miss  me,"  the  major  said, 
with  an  important  nod.  "  I  have  been  at  Orleans, 
looking  after  some  business.  What  kind  of  bird 
is  this  ?  I  believe  Viny  creates  birds  to  suit  her 
sauces!  Yes,  gentlemen.  I  have  had  important 
business  to  look  into.  And  it  concerns  you, 
John.  I  said  nothing  about  it  before,  for  I  was 
waiting  to  hear  from  Pomeroy  this  afternoon. 
Charles  Pomeroy,  of  Lafourche.  You  know  him, 
General  ? " 

"BCertainly.  Grandson  of  Louis  Paulet.  Very 
good  stock.  The  Paulets  and  Soudes  inter 
married  in  France." 


207 


"  So  I  have  been  told,  sir,"  said  the  major 
deferentially.  "Well,  Charles  Pomeroy  has  a 
project  in  which  I  am  greatly  interested.  John, 
too,  if  he  looks  at  it  as  I  do.  I  heard  from 
Pomeroy  to-day  that  matters  were  in  train,  and 
that  I  was  to  break  the  subject  to  yon.  There  is 
not  a  day  to  lose  in  carrying  it  out." 

"Not  a  day  to  lose!  "  puffed  the  old  man  con 
temptuously.  "  Eat  your  supper,  Henri,  in  peace. 
The  business  will  fare  better  if  it  waits  a  month 
or  a  year.  You  take  my  breath.  Young  men 
are  so  full  of  work  nowadays!  Making  fortunes, 
rebuilding  houses,  marrying — all  in  a  day!  I 
thank  God  that  I  belong  to  the  last  generation!" 

"  We  thank  God  for  you,  sir,  wherever  you 
belong,"  said  M.  Paramba,  bowing  gravely.  "  But 
really,  this  matter  demands  haste.  It  is  a  new 
paper,  a  review,  to  be  published  by  Pomeroy,  fort 
nightly.  It  is  to  be  the  literary  organ  of  the 
South,  and  we  wish  to  put  her  best  men  to  work 
on  it.  I  am  Adviser-General  as  you  might  say. 
The  first  man  on  Pomeroy's  list  of  contributors 
was  John  Soude.  The  first  name  on  my  list  was 
John  Soude.  Yes,  sir.  The  lad's  letters  in  the 
Picayune  yet  ring  through  the  South.  Their 
glow  and  fervor,  sir,  have  been  equalled  in  our 
time  only  by  passages  in  St.  Elmo  or  Gayarre's 
finest  efforts!  " 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Paramba!  "  John  laughed,  a 
sudden  delicious  triumph  rising  to  his  head 
like  wine.  "  Those  letters  were  poor  things. 
Though,"  he  added  reflectively,  "  I  did  take  a 
good  deal  of  pains  with  the  descriptive  passages, 


208 


and  they  have  been  approved  by — a  person  of 
high  critical  taste." 

"  It  may  suit  you  to  call  them  poor  things,  sir," 
said  his  father  hotly,  "  but  I  recognized  their 
merit.  At  once,  Paramba,  at  once!  I  said,  if  the 
South  does  not  appreciate  such  writing  as  that,  it 
does  not  deserve  to  have  a  literature!  What  do 
I  care  that  that  penny-grinder  Le  Due  can  make 
millions  in  Kansas  lots!  John  here,  by  a  few 
scratches  of  his  pen,  can  bring  tears  to  my  eyes 
and  lift  my  miserable  old  soul  up  to  God! " 

The  younger  men  listened  respectfully  until  the 
General,  with  many  snorts  and  oaths  and  thumps 
on  his  knee,  had  ended  this  speech. 

Then  the  major,  leaning  back  with  a  business 
like  air,  continued,  "  Pomeroy  wishes  you,  John, 
to  send  him  an  article  for  each  number." 

John,  with  kindling  eyes,  reflected  a  moment, 
and  deciding  that  he  could  take  Farro's  place  in 
the  management  of  the  plantation,  and  have 
abundant  leisure  for  authorship,  nodded  gayly. 

"  He  wishes  to  consult  with  you.  The  very 
name  of  the  review  has  yet  be  chosen.  Pomeroy 
inclines  to  The  Casket.  But  that  is  not  absolutely 
new,  and,  I  think,  suggests  death." 

"  Name,  eh  ?  Name  ?  "  interrupted  the  General 
anxiously.  "A  vital  point,  sir!  Stop!  The 
Southern  Constellation !  How  does  that  strike 
you  ?  " 

"Admirable!  I  will  send  that  to  Pomeroy. 
Thank  you,  General." 

"Doucement!  I  can  do  better  than  that.  Oh, 
we  must  all  put  our  shoulders  to  the  wheel!  A 


209 


Southern  organ,  at  last  ?  I  am  proud  that  my 
son,"  waving  his  hand  toward  John,  his  thick 
voice  growing  thicker  under  the  influence  of 
emotion  and  sherry,  "  that  my  son  will  help  in 
this  great  movement." 

"  If  the  pen  in  his  hand,  General,"  said  the  major, 
with  profound  deference,  "  be  as  mighty  in  the  ser 
vice  of  the  South  as  was  the  sword  in  yours " 

"  Stop  ! "  interrupted  the  old  man  sharply. 
"No  more  of  that,  Henri.  We  all  tried  to  do  our 
duty.  It  was  our  lot  to  fail.  We  will  not  beslaver 
ourselves  with  praise.  Pass  the  bottle!  " 

M.  Paramba  hastily  entered  into  details  con 
cerning  the  new  paper.  The  General  was  lavish 
with  advice. 

"  This  is  a  tremendous  undertaking,  gentle 
men,"  he  said.  "  Had  it  been  the  will  of  God," 
bowing  reverently,  "  that  the  South  should  suc 
ceed,  she  would  have  shown  her  resources  to  the 
world.  It  was  His  will  that  she  should  fail. 
This  publication  will  take  up  that  work;  you  will 
show  the  South  as  she  is.  The  eyes  of  the  civil 
ized  world  will  be  upon  you.  Those  nations  of 
Europe  who  sympathized  with  us  will  demand  to 
know  what  we  are  doing  now.  You  will  tell  them." 

Paramba's  eyes  twinkled  as  he  stood  up  to  light 
his  cigar,  but  he  said  gravely:  "What  \ve  most 
need  is  a  man  as  editor  whose  power  and  brill 
iancy  have  a  national  reputation.  We  lost  him, 
sir,  when  your  brother  Victor  died." 

The  General  looked  at  him  quickly,  but  made 
no  answer. 

"The  other  day,"  continued  M.  Paramba, 
14 


210 


"  when  the  partners  in  the  enterprise  dined  to 
gether,  Pomeroy  observed — I  think  I  can  recall 
his  precise  words, — '  The  South  once  boasted  a 
man  whose  name  would  have  ensured  success  to 
our  undertaking.  I  allude  to  that  gifted  son  of 
Louisiana — Victor  SoudeV  We  drank  to  his 
memory  standing  and  in  silence." 

The  old  man's  head  was  sunk  upon  his  breast; 
he  drew  his  breath  heavily  for  a  moment.  Then 
he  rose  with  an  effort  and  said,  speaking  in  French, 
as  he  always  did  when  moved:  "  The  young  man 
was  right.  The  Soude  family — my  family.  They 
have  borne  an  honorable  name  in  Louisiana — in 
this  nation.  The  highest  name  in  their  record  is 
— Victor's,  my  brother's." 

His  red  eyes  turned  defiantly  from  one  man  to 
the  other,  as  if  expecting  a  contradiction.  When 
neither  spoke,  he  tugged  at  his  cravat.  "  How 

hot  it  is!  lam  burning  up !  D nation,  Ga- 

roche!"  he  shouted.  "Open  these  windows!" 
He  walked  heavily  out  to  the  gallery. 

"  Sit  down,  major,"  whispered  John,  as  he 
threw  open  the  casement.  "  There  is  always 
such  an  outbreak  when  my  uncle  is  mentioned. 
It  has  been  so  ever  since  he  was  killed.  He  will 
be  himself  presently." 

The  men  began  to  talk  of  the  paper  again,  and 
after  a  brief  space,  General  Soude",  with  a  flushed, 
apologetic  face,  shuffled  back  to  his  seat,  and 
essayed  to  take  part  in  the  discussion.  A  little 
later  Garoche  came  with  bedroom  candles. 
John,  after  he  had  escorted  the  major  to  his 
chamber,  hurried  back  to  his  father. 


211 


"  Now,  General  !  " — standing  beside  him  with  a 
glowing  face.  "  This  is  a  turn  of  the  wheel  .•  A 
chance  for  real  fame,  sir  !  I  wonder  what  she 
will  think  ? " 

"She?  Oh,  yes!  You  still — still  think  of 
her  ? "  he  stammered,  looking  up  with  bleared, 
confused  eyes. 

"  Think  of  her  ?  " 

The  words  choked  in  his  throat.  The  old  man 
put  out  his  hand  and  touched  his  arm  apolo 
getically. 

"I  think  of  her — yes!"  John  was  silent  a 
moment,  and  then,  laughing  hoarsely,  said: 
"  There  never  was  a  day  in  my  life  like  this.  Do 
you  remember  our  old  ostler  Lippy  ?  He  was  a 
pious  soul.  He  used  to  take  me  on  his  knee  and 
tell  me  that  the  Virgin  and — and  her  Son — looked 
after  me,  that  it  was  they  who  kept  me  from 
breaking  my  neck  and  brought  me  good  luck.  I 
don't  know.  I  never  was  sure  of  it;  but  to-day, 
when  Paramba  brought  me  that  chance  to  be 
famous,  and  to  win  her,  I  believed  it.  Some 
body's  caring  for  me."  . 

"  I've  no  doubt  of  it,  my  boy,"  said  the  General, 
sopping  the  sweat  from  his  face.  "  God's  been 
mighty  good  to  me,  on  the  whole,"  he  added 
reverently.  "  He  planned  well  for  me.  But  the 
plans  got  infernally  mixed  up  down  here,  John. 
Now,  get  to  bed.  Send  Garoche.  I'm  tired  out." 

John  patted  his  father  affectionately  on  his 
huge  back  and  went  out,  his  eyes  shining,  whis 
tling  to  himself. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

GENERAL  SOUDE  dozed  for  a  few  minutes  in 
the  deserted  room,  and  awoke  with  a  start,  con 
scious  that  some  one  was  near.  Farro  was  stand 
ing  at  the  other  side  of  the  table,  watching  him. 
The  lamp  smoked  in  front  of  him,  a  swarm  of 
moths  buzzed  about  it  or  drowned  themselves  in 
the  dregs  of  brandy  in  the  glasses. 

"Hah!  Is  that  you,  Farro?  What  is  wrong 
now  ?  What  keeps  you  up  ? " 

"I  have  come  to  tell  you,  sir.  It  would  not 
wait  till  morning." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not.  This  is  a  night  of  dis 
closures,"  the  General  said  dryly.  He  moved  the 
bottles  before  him,  with  a  vain  effort  to  appear  at 
ease.  He  was  never  at  ease  before  the  little  gray 
man  who  stood  before  him,  insignificant  and  rigid, 
but  watchful  as  a  bird  of  prey.  The  General  was 
a  man  who,  in  spite  of  the  big  brute  within  him, 
always  held  himself  well  in  hand.  The  hotter 
the  battle,  the  cooler  he  had  been.  He  had  once 
cowed  a  furious  mob  in  the  Place  de  St.  Louis,  as 
he  would  a  dog,  with  his  calm  pluck. 

But  before  this  mulatto  he  was  timid  and  un 
sure  of  himself.  Whatever  might  be  the  secret 
relation  between  them,  it  unnerved  him:  he  had 
never  been  able,  during  the  years  in  which  Farro 


213 


had  been  overseer  of  the  plantation,  to  speak  to 
him  naturally,  as  he  would  to  any  other  man. 

"  Sit  down,  Farro,"  he  said,  nodding  to  a  chair. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  M's  Gaspard.    I'd  liefer  stand." 

"You  have  come  to  talk  business,  I  suppose? 
Cut  it  short,  then.  It  is  late.  And  once  and  for 
all,  Farro,  don't  trouble  me  by  these  frequent 
consultations.  The  semi-yearly  reports  show  me 
what  our  income  is.  I  hear  of  the  yield  of  other 
plantations,  and  I  see  that  you  are  bringing  a 
double  profit  from  ours.  I  am  satisfied  with  that. 
I  don't  ask  for  details." 

"But  M's  John  is  not  satisfied,"  said  the  over 
seer,  coming  a  step  closer.  "He  came  to  the 
office  this  evening,  to  say  that  he  meant  to  take 
charge  of  the  accounts  next  week." 

"  Take  charge  ?  John  ?  What  does  he  know 
of  accounts?  Tell  him  it  is  impossible!" 
shouted  the  General. 

"  It  is  not  for  me  to  tell  him,"  said  the  over 
seer  quietly.  "  I  have  often  wondered  he  did 
not  call  me  to  reckoning.  He  knew  that  the 
crops  were  large,  even  when  he  was  most  stinted 
for  money." 

The  General  stared  at  him.  "  Why,  Farro !  If 
he  overlooks  the  accounts  he  will  ask  where  the 
money  has  gone  !  " 

"Yes." 

Both  men  were  silent.  General  Soude's  eyes 
were  fixed  on  the  thin,  immovable  face  before 
him.  He  rapped  sharply  on  the  table. 

"What  is  to  be  done  ?  Don't  stand  there, 
dumb!  How  can  it  be  kept  from  him  ?" 


214 


"  Why  should  it  be  kept  from  him  any  longer  ? " 
said  the  mulatto,  in  his  usual  submissive  tone. 
"  Why  not  be  candid  with  him  ?  Let  him  bear 
his  share  of  the  trouble.  He  will  be  more  will 
ing  to  economize." 

"Economize?  Why,  the  lad  wants  to  marry! 
Must  he  live  like  a  pauper  then  ?  His  share  of 
the  trouble  ?  God  knows  I've  borne  my  share  of 
it!  "  He  rose  and  lumbered  up  and  down  the 
room,  striking  his  hands  fiercely  together.  He 
stopped  before  Farro.  "  Why  should  I  be  tor 
mented  this  way  all  my  life?  A  mistake  was 
made.  Godamercy!  What  of  that?  Look  at 
Pierre  Coteau.  He  shot  his  brother  in  a  duel. 
That  does  not  keep  him  awake  at  night!  Or 
Jean  Fernan  ?  He  kicked  a  negro  wench  and  her 
unborn  child  to  death.  She  does  not  haunt  him. 
They  are  fat  and  happy.  Why  am  I  and  my  boy 
to  be  hounded  to  death  for  the  mistake  of  an 
hour?" 

Farro  kept  his  eyes  respectfully  on  the  ground, 
but  said  nothing.  The  General  dropped  ex 
hausted  into  a  chair,  the  cold  sweat  oozed  out  upon 
his  forehead.  He  leaned  back,  his  eyes  closed. 
Farro  came  nearer,  keenly  scanning  the  counte 
nance  before  him.  It  was  a  patrician  face,  capable 
of  noble  meanings,  yet,  mean  as  were  his  own 
features,  there  was  a  subtle  likeness  between  the 
two. 

Farro's  mother,  however,  had  been  a  good 
housekeeper;  a  shrewd,  practical  woman  as  any 
white  New  Englander.  There  are  many  such 
departures  in  her  race.  Her  cool  common-sense 


215 


was  usually  uppermost  in  her  son.  It  was  that 
which  now  managed  the  plantation. 

He  briskly  closed  the  windows  to  shut  out  the 
ghostly  night  sounds  from  the  marshes,  built  up 
the  fire  until  it  blazed,  and  said  cheerfully: 

"  Just  look  at  the  facts  a  minute,  M's  Gaspard. 
That  will  make  it  plain  to  you  what  is  best  to  do. 
The  money  must  go  as  it  has  done.  But  M's 
John  ought  to  know  how  it  goes.  He  is  your 
heir.  He  is  not  a  minor.  In  one  sense  it  is  his 
property.  It  is  only  fair  to  him  to  tell  him." 

"  Haven't  I  been  fair  to  him  ?  "  groaned  the 
old  man.  "  Haven't  I  tried  to  hide  from  him 
what  was  worse  than  death  ?  I've  kept  him  like 
a  beggar  to  hide  it.  Lord!  The  hunters  I  had 
at  his  age,  and  the  hounds!  All  my  clothes  from 

Paris,  too.  I've  hid  it  from  him  because But 

how  could  you  understand  why  I  hid  it  ?" 

Farro  looked  at  him  steadily.  "  I  think  I 
understand,"  he  said  calmly.  "  I  couldn't  have 
given  my  life  to  this  work  for  ten  years  without 
understanding.  But  M's  John  ought  to  know 
why  he  cannot  have  hunters  and  Paris  coats,"  he 
persisted. 

"I'll  not  have  him  worried,  I  tell  you!  I  have 
made  up  my  mind.  He  has  had  all  the  life  crushed 
out  of  him  as  it  is." 

The  little  gray  man  came  up  to  the  table  before 
he  spoke.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  there  was 
no  hint  of  submission  in  his  low  tones. 

"  You  are  mistaken,  General  Soude.  M's  John 
has  not  been  crushed.  He  has  had  plenty  to  eat 
and  drink  ;  he  has  played  away  his  life  comfort- 


216 


ably  for  thirty  years,  and  " — his  voice  changed 
meaningly — "he  has  always  ranked  as  a  high-toned 
gentleman  in  Louisiana.  I  took  care  of  that.  I 
don't  want  to  speak  of  myself.  I'll  never  do  it 
again.  But  I'm  driven  to  it  now.  The  work  of 
hiding  this  thing  ten  years  ago  belonged  as  much 
to  him  as  to  me.  He  didn't  do  it.  /did  it." 

"Yes,  you  did,  and  well,  Farro.     Very  well." 

"  I  did  not  do  it  for  praise,  and  I  want  none 
now.  But  I  will  not  be  called  a  thief.  M's  John 
calls  me  a  thief  to  all  the  planters  in  Attakapas. 
It  is  natural.  He  does  not  know  where  the 
money  goes.  Farro  steals  it.  Farro  is  an 
f.  m.  c.  It  is  a  thing  of  course.  But  I  mean  to 
keep  a  clean  name.  I  will  not  be  called  a  thief. 
I  have  little  children." 

"Why,  of  course,  boy!"  The  old  planter 
looked  at  the  quondam  slave  curiously,  as  he 
might  at  a  monkey  who  bore  himself  in  some 
absurd  whim  like  a  man.  "  You  want  to  keep  an 
honest  name  for  your  children — certainly!  I  will 
explain  it  to  my  son.  Why,  if  you  had  not  thrown 
yourself  into  the  breach  that  day — I  know  what 
you  have  done  for  me,  Farro,  and  for  John." 

"I  did  not  do  it  for  you  or  your  son.  There 
was  a  reason " 

The  General,  regarding  the  mulatto  steadfastly, 
held  out  his  hand  toward  him  and  let  it  fall.  It 
was  the  look  that  moved  him.  That  same  old 
look,  so  familiar  when  he  and  Victor  were  boys. 
It  came  out  of  the  grave  now  to  wrench  his  heart. 

"You  shall  not  be  called  a  thief,"  he  said 
quietly.  "I  will  tell  John.  You  can  go  now." 


217 


But  Farro  met  John  Soude  at  the  door,  coming 
in  hurriedly. 

"  I  heard  your  voice,  father.  Why  are  you 
up  so  late  ?  Where  is  Garoche  ?  Come,  let  me 
take  you  to  your  room,"  putting  his  arm  affec 
tionately  about  his  shoulder.  "This  man  has 
been  worrying  you  with  business  ? "  glancing 
angrily  at  Farro.  "  I  will  relieve  you  of  that 
kind  of  annoyance  in  future.  I  mean  to  have  a 
reckoning  very  soon  with  this  fellow." 

"  Hush,  John.  We  were  discussing  a  certain 
matter — whether — I  think  I  will  tell  him  now, 
Farro  ?  " 

The  overseer  stepped  eagerly  forward.  "  Yes, 
now,"  he  said. 

"No.  Why  should  you  worry  with  business 
to-night?"  urged  John.  "You  have  so  many 
pleasant  things  to  think  of  to-night.  I  could  not 
sleep.  Pomeroy's  scheme,  and — and  the  matter 
I  spoke  to  you  of — It  seems  as  if  every  thing 
good  was  coming  to  us  at  once." 

"Oh,  you  don't  know  what  is  coming  to  you! 
Good  ?  When  I  heard  it,  it  seemed  as  if  every 
thing  on  earth  was  tainted  and  rotten.  And  now 
you  must  know  it!  I've  kept  it  from  you  all 
these  years " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Sit  down.  Don't  be 
afraid  to  tell  me.  I'm  not  a  child.  Unless" — 
looking  at  him  sharply.  "  Is  it  some  secret 
disease  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"  No,  no!  I'm  as  sound  as  a  dollar,  thank  God! 
The  Soudes  die  of  old  age  or  rum — you  know  the 
saying.  No.  It's  a  thing  that " 


218 


He  pulled  himself  up,  took  John  by  the  arm, 
opening  his  mouth  as  if  to  speak,  and  then  turned 
away.  "I'll  tell  you  to-morrow." 

"No,  father;  to-night." 

"  I  can't  put  it  into  words,  Farro!  " 

"  What  has  this  man  to  do  with  it  ?  "  said  John 
sternly. 

"  I  understand  the  matter,  M's  John.  I  can 
explain  it  to  you." 

"  Be  quick  about  it,  then.  My  father  is  greatly 
shaken."  He  watched  the  old  man  anxiously 
while  Farro  spoke. 

"It  was  a  business  transaction,  M's  John. 
Your  Uncle  Victor.  He  came  home  in  '62.  He 
wanted  to  equip  a  regiment,  and  he  had  no  money." 

"  His  heart  was  in  the  cause,  John,"  interrupted 
the  General,  looking  up  piteously  to  him.  "  His 
poverty  maddened  him.  He  was  not  sane — not 
sane! " 

"Go  on!     What  is  it?" 

"  He  found  the  money,"  Farro  said,  in  a  whis 
per.  "  He  took  the  regiment  into  the  field,  and 
was  killed, as  you  know." 

"  Found  the  money  ?  " 

"  It  was  a  great  sum.  I  have  it  all  set  down — 
you  can  see  the  papers — it  belonged  to  Stohl  et 
fils,  bankers  in  New  Orleans  and  Paris.  He 
was  their  counsel  and  had  access  to  their  safes. 
He- 
John  walked  across  the  floor  with  a  strange 
guttural  noise  in  his  throat.  His  father  watched 
him  in  silence,  gray  pallor  creeping  over  his  huge 
features. 


2I9 


Farro  hesitated,  and  then  went  on.  He  had 
done  his  duty  in  this  matter  better  than  the  white 
men,  yet  perhaps  he  did  not  quite,  understand 
what  it  meant  to  them. 

"  Stohl  et  fils  have  acted  very  considerately 
to  M's  Gaspard.  He  pledged  himself  to  repay 
every  dollar,  and  asked  that  the  secret  might  be 
kept.  They  have  kept  it.  Mr.  Stohl  himself 
receives  the  yearly  payments.  His  receipts  are 
all  ready  for  you  to  examine." 

John  made  no  answer.  His  back  was  toward 
them. 

"  I  wish  you  to  go  over  the  books,  to-morrow, 
sir.  They  are  accurate  to  a  penny — the  receipts 
from  the  crops  and " 

John  turned  and  came  quickly  to  the  General. 
He  had  forced  a  smile  into  his  face.  "And 
you've  had  this  load  all  these  years  ?  Alone, 
while  I — you  should  have  told  me — why,  /don't 
mind  it,  father.  It  won't  break  me  down.  But 
we  must  make  haste  to  pay  it  off!  Every  dollar! 
I've  been  wasting  money  frightfully.  We  can 
save  in  clothes — on  the  table,  every  way." 

"  I  have  saved,  dear  boy!  "  exclaimed  the 
General  miserably.  "  I  am  sure  the  table " 

"  Great  Heavens— Therese!  "  broke  out  John. 

"  If  she  hears  that  her  father How  can  I 

hide  it  from  her  ?" 

"You  forget,  M's  John,"  interrupted  Farro 
calmly,  "this  is  not  a  new  thing.  It  happened 
ten  years  ago.  It  has  been  hid." 

John  caught  sight  of  his  father's  quivering  lips, 
and  suddenly  braced  himself.  "Come,  father," 


220 


he  said  heartily,  "  you  have  done  with  this  load 
now.  I  take  it  on  my  shoulders.  It  is  an 
old  dead  matter,  after  all.  We  will  soon  set  it 
right.  Now  you  must  go  to  bed." 

As  he  led  him  from  the  room  Farro  hurried  to 
hold  the  door  open  for  them.  John  stopped  short. 
"  I  did  you  an  injustice,"  he  said.  "  I  am  sorry 
for  it,"  and  held  out  his  hand. 

The  General  nodded  kindly,  and  when  they 
were  out  of  hearing,  said:  "That  is  a  faithful 
fellow,  John.  I  am  glad  that  you  recognized  his 
services.  They  have  feelings  very  much  like 
ours,  after  all." 

Farro  just  then  was  creeping  softly  into  his 
cabin,  that  he  might  not  waken  his  wife  and  chil 
dren.  He  knew  that  he  had  given  ten  years  of 
hard  work  to  protect  the  name  of  Victor  Soude, 
yet  the  consciousness  of  the  'great  sacrifice  did 
not  give  him  as  keen  a  pang  of  pleasure  as  this 
shake  of  the  hand  from  a  man  that  he  disliked. 

It  was  a  recognition  of  the  white  blood  in  him. 
It  flamed  in  his  veins.  He  stopped  to  look  at 
the  babies  as  he  passed  their  trundle-bed,  and 
kissed  them  both,  but  he  patted  one  fondly.  It 
was  the  whiter  of  the  two  and  had  reddish  hair. 

John  left  his  father  in  his  room  and  hurried 
out  of  the  house.  He  had  a  queer  shivering  fit 
such  as  women  have,  and  was  ashamed  of  it.  He 
had  been  thrown  headlong  into  filth  and  never 
could  be  clean  again  !  The  Soudes,  thieves  ! 
He  plunged  into  the  marsh  and  walked  in  the 
night  for  hours. 

The    morning    rose  at  last   on   his   wretched- 


r 


221 


ness.  Red  lights  struck  across  the  vast  slope 
toward  the  Gulf,  with  its  population  of  spectral 
trees  and  moving  mists.  The  fresh  air  blew; 
thousands  of  birds  began  to  sing.  Soude  ran  to 
the  bay  and,  undressing,  threw  himself  into  the 
water.  He  fought  with  the  waves  a  while,  shout 
ing  to  himself,  and  came  out  all  in  a  glow  and 
laughing.  He  was  so  young!  There  was  so 
much  to  do  !  The  day  was  so  bright  and  cold  ! 
Now  for  work.  Every  dollar  must  be  saved  to 
pay  off  that  debt,  and  he  must  plunge  into  Pome- 
roy's  scheme  and  earn  a  support  for  his  wife. 
Milly  and  he  would-  take  care  of  Therese,  he 
thought,  with  a  tender  smile  on  his  lips. 

He  hurried  to  the  house.  There  was  so  much 
to  do,  and  he  was  so  strong  and  able  for  it,  that 
the  old  disaster  faded,  dim  and  far  off  as  the 
unclean  fogs  yonder  upon  the  swamps. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

MAJOR  PARAMBA  that  morning  found  General 
Soude  at  the  breakfast  table,  inspecting  critically 
the  dishes  which  were  to  be  set  before  his  guests. 
His  old  neighbor  perceived  a  change  in  him. 
He  held  his  head  erect;  his  color  was  ruddy,  his 
voice  hearty,  as  they  had  not  been  for  years. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  heard  good  news, 
General  ? " 

"No,  sir.  No.  But  I  talked  over  my  affairs 
with  John  last  night.  Some  old  troubles.  He 
threw  a  new  light  on  them,  sir!  You  have  no 
idea  of  the  strength  and  intelligence  of  that  boy. 
He  is  going  to  grapple  with  my — my  difficulty. 
March  alongside  of  me,  as  you  might  say.  I 
feel  twenty  years  younger  this  morning.  Try 
that  fish,  Paramba." 

"You  are  up  early,"  the  major  said,  as  he  sat 
down. 

"I  could  not  sleep.  I  have  been  down  here 
for  an  hour,  planning  articles  which  John  must 
write  for  the  review." 

"  Pomeroy,"  said  the  major,  i(  suggested  a  series 
of  papers  from  him  on  our  Southern  cities;  their 
condition,  commercial,  literary,  and  social " 

"Admirable!  Nothing  could  be  better!  John 
must  not  neglect  one  of  them.  The  least  of  our 
towns  is  liable  any  day  now  to  become  a  metrop- 


223 


oils.  I  am  particularly  pleased  that  John  has 
this  work  to  do,"  he  said,  lowering  his  voice. 

"  The  lad  has  an  attachment "  He  ended  the 

sentence  with  significant  nods.  "  Our  Northern 
friends  leave  us  this  evening,  and  I  shall  go  with 
them  to  New  Orleans  to  look  out  a  house  for 
the  young  couple." 

"  Ah,  is  it  so  near  as  that  ?  I  congratulate  you 
with  all  my  heart,"  wringing  his  hand.  "You 
are  just  the  man  to  fall  in  love  with  a  daughter- 
in-law  and  to  make  her  happy.  They  will  live  in 
Orleans  then  ?" 

"In  Orleans  in  winter:  here  in  summer,  sir.  I 
planned  it  out  this  morning." 

"  I  know  of  two  fine  mansions  there  for  sale." 

"  I  will  look  at  them  to-morrow,  Henri.  I  will 
look  at  them.  I  must  have  large  galleries,  where 
the  boy  and  I  can  smoke  and  she  can  work  at 
her  embroidery.  And  a  garden.  She  is,  I  be 
lieve,  fond  of  flowers.  She  has,  I  imagine,  all  the 
gentlest  tastes  of  a  gentlewoman." 

"  Of  course.  You  will  live  with  them  then, 
General  ?" 

"Undoubtedly.  Why,  sir!"  turning  with  sud 
den  alarm.  "Where  should  I  live  but  with  John  ? 
Do  you  think  she  would  object  to  the  old  man  ?  " 

"  General!  Do  you  mean  to  insult  John's  wife  ? 
Object  to  you  ?" 

"Well,  well!  You  startled  me!"  He  put  his 
hand  on  Paramba's  arm,  saying,  with  laughing 
eyes,  "  I  am  full  of  plans  for  them  this  morn 
ing!  I  mean  them  to  be  rich,  sir,  rich!  I  am 
going  to  join  the  money-making  hordes  to-mor- 


224 


row.  There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  I  shall 
succeed  in  speculation,  Henri.  It  takes  an  old, 
shrewd  head  to  go  into  that  sort  of  thing.  I 
shall  not  be  surprised  if  I  clear  a  hundred  thou 
sand  the  first  season." 

"  No  doubt,  General."  The  major  looked  at 
him  wistfully  over  his  coffee-cup. 

Thereseand  her  guests  came  in  at  that  moment. 
The  group  of  girls  in  their  airy  gowns  gathered 
gayly  about  the  table.  It  was  strewed  with  roses; 
a  cool,  bracing  air  blew  in  through  the  open  win 
dows.  John  hurried  in,  immaculate  in  white 
flannels,  his  olive  skin  glowing  from  his  sea  bath. 
E  very-body  was  hungry  and  merry.  The  Soudes, 
father  and  son,  joined  in  the  laughter  with  as 
light  hearts  as  if  they  had  begun  life  afresh  that 
morning. 

Presently  the  major  leaned  across  the  table, 
and  said  in  a  low  voice  to  John: 

"  You  broached  that  matter  to  your  father  ?  " 

"  Yes.  But  we  were  grossly  unjust  to  Farro. 
I  have  looked  into  the  affairs  of  the  plantation 
and  am  content  to  leave  them  entirely  in  his 
hands."  He  spoke  with  decision.  "  There  is  an 
old  lien  on  the  estate,  which  absorbs  the  income." 

Miss  Warrick  sat  next  to  John  and,  as  he  spoke, 
M.  Paramba  was  watching  the  pearly  tints  in  her 
chin  and  throat.  They  turned  blood  red  suddenly. 
He  stared  at  her.  But  how  could  the  lien  on  the 
Soude  estate  concern  her  ?  Besides,  a  woman  in 
his  opinion  understood  business  no  more  than 
would  a  rose  or  a  doll. 

When  breakfast  was  over,  Milly  went  out  to  the 


225 


veranda.      Old  Tertius  on  his  mule  was  jogging 
across  the  prairie  toward  Ste.  Barbe. 

"  I  tried  to  start  him  three  hours  ago,"  said 
Therese,  laughing. 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Mrs.  Dane,  "  you  would 
have  your  mail  brought  regularly,  daily." 

"  We  are  content  if  it  reaches  us  somehow  once 
a  week.  Our  world  is  all  here,  you  know." 

"And  I  would  ask  no  bigger  nor  better  world," 
said  Doctor  Warrick  energetically,  shouldering 
his  tin  cases  and  hooks  for  a  start.  "  If  I  had  my 
laboratory  here,  with  these  marshes  I  could  finish 
my  work  in  a  year." 

"He  does  not  care  what  Tertius  brings!" 
thought  Milly,  looking  after  him.  "  Yet  it  will  se 
cure  his  whole  future,  dear  soul!  "  She  had  already 
planned  to  build  him  a  little  laboratory  in  this  ely- 
sium  for  biologists,  when  her  fortune  was  secure. 

When?     It  would  be  sure  to-day! 

As  she  crossed  the  veranda  she  passed  Ned 
Calhoun,'  who  was  painting  a  grinning  negro  boy. 
"  111  buy  one  of  his  pictures  and  make  him  the 
fashion,  so  that  he  can  pay  poor  old  Brooke  back," 
she  said  to  hefself.  "  Mother  was  fond  of  Brooke." 

Anne  and  one  of  the  Fontaine  girls  were  standing 
on  the  steps.  As  Miss  Fontaine  raised  her  hand, 
the  flash  of  a  great  green  stone  struck  Milly's  sight. 

"Ah-h!"  Her  eyes  shone.  She  loved  jewels. 
"That  is  the  famous  Fontaine  emerald,  I  suppose. 
Poor  little  Nancy!  "  She  glanced  at  her  sister's 
ringless  hands.  "She  shall  have  her  trinkets, 
too.  Mother  would  like  her  to  have  as  much  as 
I,  though  I  have  done  the  work."  She  frowned, 
15 


226 


but  in  a  moment  the  tender,  sweet  smile  came 
back.  Milly  was  affectionate  and  generous  to 
day  as  never  before.  She  sauntered  down  to  the 
lake,  listening  to  eager  steps  which  followed  her. 
It  was  something  in  the  steps  which  made  her 
heart  burn  and  long  to  give.  The  sunshine  was 
warm,  the  birds  cooed  overhead.  She  was  so 
happy  that  the  tears  actually  came  to  her  eyes. 
She  sat  down  by  the  water,  to  wait,  and  began 
to  pull  idly  at  a  vine  near  her.  It  was  a  mon 
ster  passion  flower.  How  her  mother  used  to 
work,  the  year  round,  to  win  out  some  feeble 
blooms  from  that  vine! 

Milly  looked  around  impatiently.  Her  mother's 
memory  fairly  hunted  her  to-day  !  The  stout, 
commonplace  woman  was  out  of  place  in  this 
enchanted  country.  Mildred  did  not  like  to  re 
member  how  wholly  she  had  been  controlled  by 
her — by  a  person  who,  so  her  advanced  ideas 
taught  her,  had  been  narrow  and  ignorant  even 
for  her  bigoted,  ignorant  times. 

When  John  came  to  her,  she  was  depressed  and 
anxious.  "It  is  nothing!"  she  persisted,  in  an 
swer  to  his  breathless  enquiries.  "  Only  I  am  not 
like  myself  here.  I  am  beset  by  all  kinds  of 
queer  fancies.  Now  at  home  I  am  a  practical 
little  manager." 

"You,  practical  !  "  John  roared  with  delight 
and  then  murmured,  tenderly  stroking  her  palm: 

"  '  Have  you  felt  swan's  down,  ever? 
Or  smelt  the  bud  o'  the  brier  ? 
Or  tasted  the  bag  o'  the  bee  ? 
Oh,  so  white  !     Oh,  so  soft  !     Oh,  so  sweet  is  she  ! '  ' 


227 

"  You  are  foolish !  "  she  said.  "  I  am  very 
matter  of  fact.  Did  you  ever  know  my  mother  ?  " 
she  interrupted  herself  hastily. 

"  Your  mother  ?     How  could  I,  Mildred  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not.  But  do  you  know,  when 
ever  I  am  with  you,  I  think  of  her  ?  She  seems 
to  be  with  us.  On  your  side.  Taking  your 
part." 

"  Taking  my  part  ?  Against  whom  ?  Who  is 
against  me  ?  "  Soude  asked,  bewildered. 

Mildred  turned  on  him  cold,  questioning  blue 
eyes,  out  of  which  a  strange  woman  looked  whom 
he  had  never  known.  The  next  minute  she  burst 
into  tears. 

"  Oh,  John,  take  care  of  me  !  "  she  cried. 
"  Nobody  but  you  ever  understood  me  !  I  have 
had  such  a  lonely  life  !  " 

"It  shall  never  be  lonely  again,  poor  little 
girl !  "  said  honest  John,  with  a  choke  in  his  voice, 
taking  her  into  his  arms. 

She  was  quieted  at  last  and  smiled  through  her 
tears,  meaning  to  begin  to  talk  business  now 
rationally.  And  then  her  mind  was  suddenly 
filled  with  delight  at  his  flannel  clothes.  How  the 
creamy  white  brought  out  his  rich  coloring,  and 
how  the  damp  curls  showed  the  noble  shape  of  his 
head  !  And  then  she  saw  that  the  clothes  were 
cut  in  a  fashion  of  years  ago.  How  people  would 
laugh  at  them  in  Luxborough  !  "  Oh,  you  dear 
stupid  John  !  "  she  cried,  patting  the  old  coat 
fondly,  and  laying  her  cheek  against  it. 

She  lay  there  with  soft,  suffused  eyes  while 
John  told  his  great  .news,  of  Paramba's  offer. 


228 


"I  shall  go  to  work  next  week,"  he  said.  "I 
think  there  is  something  in  me" — reddening  like  a 
school-boy.  "You  taught  me  to  think  that.  And 
if  I  ever  should  become  famous,  it  is  to  you " 

He  stopped,  stroking  her  hair  tenderly.  John 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  they  should  be  married 
in  the  summer,  and  told  her  so  with  decision. 
"  My  salary  on  the  review  will  be  small  at  first, 
and  it  is  all  that  I  shall  have,  but " 

"  The  dear  old  plantation  ?  "  suggested  Milly 
gently.  "  I  heard  you  say  something  about  a 
lien." 

"  Yes.  I  have  given  up  all  claim  to  any  income 
from  that.  My  father  has  use  for  it— An  old 
lien — yes.  No,  darling,  you  are  going  to  marry  a 
very  poor  man!  But  there  is  a  little  cottage  on 
Camp  Street  which  I  can  lease  and  we  will  put  a 
few  traps  in  it— Why,  Milly!  What  does  it  matter 
how  we  live  ?  We  shall  have  each  other!  " 

Milly  laughed.  Her  blue  eyes  were  full  of  a 
mischievous  ecstasy.  "Oh,  you  poor  John! 
With  your  funny  dear  old  coat!  And  you  are 
going  to  lease  a  little  cabin  in  Camp  Street!  And 
I  will  make  my  own  calico  gowns,  and  some 
times,  as  a  great  treat,  you  will  bring  home  some 
chops  in  a  piece  of  brown  paper!  Qh,  I  see  it 
all! "  And  she  laughed  until  the  tears  came. 

John,  bewildered,  said  nothing,  but  broke  a 
piece  of  wild  vine  with  starry  white  flowers  and 
twisted  it  around  her  head.  "My  queen!  "he 
said. 

Milly's  swift  fancy  suggested  that  the  wreath 
could  easily  be  copied  in  a  real  crown.  ''The 


229 


leaves  in  gold  filigree  and  the  blossoms  in  pearls. 
Tiffany  shall  do  it  for  me.  I  shall  indulge  my 
self  in  jewels,"  she  thought,  lifting  her  radiant 
face  to  John.  Ah!  When  he  knew!  Would 
Tertius  never  bring  that  letter! 

"  Mildred!  "  Mrs.  Dane  was  crossing  the  field. 
She  waved  a  yellow  telegram  in  her  hand 
excitedly. 

"It  has  come!"  Milly  rose.  "Wait  here  for 
me,  John.  I  will  bring  you — I  have  something 
for  you."  She  tried  to  run,  but  walked  slowly  to 
meet  her  cousin. 

Mrs.  Dane  anxiously  watched  her  whitening 
face.  "She  suspects  it;  I  need  not  break  it  to 
her,"  she  thought.  Yet  Milly  stood  waiting 
beside  her  a  moment  before  she  could  say,  "  Per 
haps  you  have  heard  too?  One  of  the  neighbors 
brought  this.  It  is  from  Paul  Franciscus.  Mrs. 
Joyce  is  dead." 

"  Yes.     I  knew  that  she— Is  that  all  ?  " 

"  No.  He  says  " — the  paper  shook  in  Mrs. 
Dane's  fingers,  as  she  opened  it — "  he  says, 
*  Will  was  read  to-day.  Legacy  of  five  hundred 
dollars  for  Mildred  Warrick.  The  entire  re 
mainder  of  estate  goes  to  charitable  and  reli 
gious  objects.' " 

She  folded  the  slip  carefully,  not  raising  her 
eyes.  She  never  had  loved  Mildred,  but  she 
could  not  look  at  her  now.  Her  old  heart  was 
sick  for  her. 

Milly  at  last  held  out  her  hand  for  the  paper. 
"Oh,  yes!  look  at  it,  poor  child!"  Mrs.  Dane 
broke  out.  "  There's  no  mistake.  The  woman 


230 


always  was  a  fraud.  Your  dear  sainted  mother 
never  could  abide  her!  I  warned  Samuel  against 
her,  goodness  knows!  To  hang  on  you  like  a 

vampire  all  the  best  years  of  your  life And 

now — five  hundred  dollars!  " 

Mildred  stood  looking  at  the  yellow  paper. 
She  did  not  speak  nor  hear.  At  last  she  handed  it 
back.  "  It  does  not  matter  to  me,"  she  said,  with 
a  strained,  polite  voice.  "  Goes  to  charity — to 

religion.  She  had  to  buy  her  way  to It 

does  not  matter  to  me." 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  cried  cousin  Julia 
eagerly.  "  That's  the  tone  to  take  to  stop 
remark.  That's  what  I  shall  say  in  Luxborough — 
'  Mildred  always  was  aware  of  her  cousin's  gen 
erous  intentions  to  the  church  and  hospitals.' 
Unless  " — pausing  anxiously — "  the  will  could  be 
broken  ?  I  might  wire  Paul  at  once." 

"  No.  She  was  perfectly  competent  to  make  a 
will.  Quite  sane.  If  I  broke  it,  I  am  not  the 
next  heir." 

"  Something  might  be  gained  by  contesting. 
Let  me  wire  Paul,  Mildred." 

"No!"  Milly's  voice  rose  in  a  shrill  squeak. 
"  You  will  make  me  the  town's  talk.  For  noth 
ing!  It  is  of  no  use,  I  tell  you!  " 

"Just  as  you  choose!  /  should  contest," 
grumbled  cousin  Julia,  as  she  turned  to  go  back 
to  the  house.  Milly  crept  down  the  hill.  Her 
legs  moved  like  logs.  Was  she  going  to  be  ill  ? 
She  must  hurry  to  him.  He  was  left.  There 
was  nothing  now  left  her  in  the  world  but 
John. 


231 


"  And  I  meant  to  do  so  much  good  with  it!  " 
she  suddenly  cried  out. 

When  she  reached  Soude,  she  threw  herself 
down  on  the  ground  with  her  head  on  his  knees. 
"  I  have  you  still!  "  she  sobbed. 

When  John,  amazed  and  terrified,  tried  to 
soothe  her,  she  clung  to  him  fiercely,  crying 
again,  "  You  !  You  are  left  to  me!  "  Presently, 
looking  up  at  him,  she  laughed  wildly.  "  I  have 
you — and  the  calico  gowns  and  the  chops!  "  she 
said,  holding  up  her  quivering  lips  to  be  kissed. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IT  was  a  rainy  afternoon  in  June.  Anne  and 
Mildred  were  comfortably  seated  at  work  in  their 
parlor  at  The  Oaks,  but  through  the  low  windows 
they  could  see  the  gray  mists  driven  through  the 
valley  below,  and  the  sheets  of  blinding  rain,  with 
flashes  of  wet  brilliance  coming  between.  Anne 
incessantly  dropped  her  pencil  and  note-books  to 
run  to  the  window,  or  to  stir  the  smouldering 
wood-fire:  but  Milly  never  lifted  her  eyes  from 
the  seam  which  she  was  sewing. 

She  was  to  be  married  in  a  month.  She  had 
expended  her  five  hundred  dollars  upon  her 
wedding  outfit,  and  she  was  at  work  upon  it  now. 

The  vista  of  poverty  opening  before  her  was  so 
appalling  to  her  that  she  hid  it  as  a  disgrace. 
No  one  but  her  father  and  Anne  knew  of  her 
approaching  marriage. 

"I  have  something  more  serious  to  think  of 
than  rain  or  rainbows,"  she  said  now  irritably. 
"You  never  will  be  more  than  ten  years  old, 
Anne.  I  should  think  that  report  would  require 
all  of  your  attention." 

Her  tone  was  a  little  acrid.  For  it  was  Anne, 
and  not  herself,  who,  so  suddenly  after  their 
return,  had  been  elected  Secretary  in  one 
Woman's  Charitable  Board  and  Director  in 
another. 


233 


They  had  found  a  charitable  mania  rampant 
in  Luxborough.  Nobody  had  expressed  the  sym 
pathy  for  Milly's  disappointment  which  she  had 
so  feared  to  face.  Nobody  apparently  remem 
bered  that  she  ever  had  had  any  claim  upon  the 
Joyce  millions.  Mrs.  Joyce's  munificence  had 
revived  a  dozen  languishing  asylums,  hospitals, 
and  libraries.  Luxborough,  especially  the  female 
part  of  it,  was  suddenly  agog  with  philanthropic 
zeal. 

At  that  time,  the  fever  of  Reform  was  not 
epidemic  among  the  women  of  this  country  as 
it  is  now.  Many  of  them  had  been  reluctantly 
forced  by  the  \var  into  work,  and  a  few  old 
Quaker  ladies  were  demanding  suffrage.  Here 
and  there  were  sporadic  cases  of  disgust  with 
man's  rule,  but  even  the  most  discontented  of  the 
insurgents  would  have  laughed  at  the  claims  of 
the  Advanced  Woman  of  to-day.  Victory  had 
not  as  yet  tainted  the  rebelling  sex  with  conceit: 
its  discontent  as  yet  found  vent  only  in  family  or 
church  squabbles. 

So,  in  Luxborough.  Mrs.  Hayes,  who  now  lec 
tures  by  turn  on  Biology  and  Street-cleaning,  and 
boldly  declares  all  men  since  Adam  to  have  been 
unamiable  and  vicious,  then  only  found  relief  in 
nagging  the  rector  of  the  High  church  until  life 
was  a  burden  to  him.  All  of  the  prominent  Lux- 
borough  women  were  in  committees  for  the  man 
agement  of  the  Joyce  money.  But  none  of  them 
dared  to  chirp  a  protest  when  Mr.  Mears,  who, 
as  a  charitable  expert,  was  chairman  of  most  of 
the  Boards,  placed  the  younger  Miss  Warrick  in 


234 


the  most  responsible  positions.  They  might 
gibe  and  sneer  at  her  behind  her  back,  but  the 
Tyrant  Man  was  still  king.  They  could  do 
nothing. 

Anne,  who  two  months  ago  had  been  tortured 
by  a  soul  which  panted  for  love,  for  immortality, 
for  self-sacrifice  by  turns,  found  herself  suddenly 
bound  down  to  note-books,  committee  meet 
ings,  and  reports.  She  showed  a  keen  insight 
and  swift  common-sense  in  dealing  with  these 
matters  which  enraptured  Mr.  Mears. 

A  dozen  voluble  committee-women  had  filled 
the  parlor  all  morning.  Milly  in  one  corner  bent 
over  her  sewing  and  listened  in  silence. 

It  was  her  government  bonds  which  were  to 
build  the  ward  for  incurables.  It  was  her  Penn 
sylvania  Railroad  stock  which  was  to  buy  chimes 
for  the  church. 

"I  should  think  they  would  feel  like  thieves!  " 
she  said  vehemently,  as  the  hall  door  closed 
behind  them. 

Anne  looked  up  bewildered,  then,  with  an 
angry  flash  of  intelligence,  she  said:  "Do  you 
suppose  they  can  think  you  wanted  Mrs.  Joyce's 
money,  dear  ?  I  thought  it  was  such  good  taste 
in  her  to  leave  you  so  small  a  sum.  If  she  had 
given  you  much,  people  might  have  said  you 
had  been  kind  to  her  with  a  purpose." 

Mildred's  blue  eyes  rested  on  her  for  a  moment. 
"Anne  is  so  stupid  as  to  be  imbecile!  "  she  said 
to  herself. 

Mr.  Mears  came  in  at  that  moment,  and  he  and 
Anne  were  soon  busied  with  the  reports.  Milly 


235 


glanced  over  her  sewing  at  the  dark  and  fair 
heads  bent  closely  together.  •«  A  well-matched 
couple,"  she  thought.  "He  has  birth,  position, 
money,  every  thing!  Anne  has  won  the  race 
without  making  the  running.  And  I " 

She  gathered  up  her  work  and  carried  it  to 
her  own  room,  with  defeat  gnawing  at  her  heart. 
But  she  had  John,  thank  God!  She  took  out  of 
a  drawer  a  package  of  crossed,  badly  spelled 
letters:  a  huge  package,  for  they  rained  on  her 
by  every  mail.  She  turned  them  over  for  a 
minute,  and  then  put  her  sewing  away.  She 
would  take  a  holiday  of  an  hour  to  read  them. 
There  was  no  fire  in  the  room.  Every  cent  that 
she  could  screw  out  of  the  family  expenses  was 
going  into  her  wedding  outfit.  She  wrapped  her 
self  in  her  mackintosh,  shivering,  and  sat  by  the 
window,  the  rain  pelting  outside,  to  pour  over 
the  blotted  scrawls,  laughing  sometimes,  with  the 
tears  in  her  eyes,  or  smoothing  them  out  with 
tender  fingers. 

How  hard  the  dear  boy  was  working!  And 
how  he  hated  work!  Then  at  some  sudden  word, 
her  face  would  flame  with  passion,  and  she  would 
take  out  Soude's  photograph  and  look  at  it  with 
half-closed,  dim  eyes. 

Presently,  she  unfolded  a  photograph  which 
he  had  sent  her  of  the  house  on  Camp  Street. 
A  cheap  wooden  box,  with  a  ten-foot  side-yard  in 
which  grew  a  gigantic  Gloire  de  Dijon  rose. 
John  had  written  a  poem  about  the  rose:  "Its 
perfume  breathed  his  soul  to  hers."  "Let  the 
rose  speak  for  me."  Surely  no  love  was  ever  so 


236 


high  and  fine!  He  had  sent  her  a  mass  of  rose- 
leaves:  their  pungent  aroma  filled  the  air  as 
she  played  with  them. 

"Breathing  his  soul  to  mine " 

Ah-h!     She  buried  her  hot  face  in  them. 

As  she  raised  it  her  eyes  happened  to  fall  on 
the  table  linen  which  she  had  bought  yesterday. 
It  certainly  was  coarser  than  she  thought.  And 
how  yellow!  She  rubbed  it  critically  between 
her  thumb  and  forefinger.  Milly  dearly  loved 
fine,  delicate  napery. 

Her  face  slowly  filled  with  disgust  and  misery. 
A  bride  to  buy  half-bleached  table-linen  !  And 
cotton  underwear!  But  when  household  plen 
ishing,  gowns,  clothes,  all,  had  to  come  out  of  a 
poor  five  hundred  dollars,  what  could  you  do  ? 

Go  clothed  like  a  pauper  for  the  rest  of  your 
life! 

The  photograph  of  the  house  still  lay  on  her 
knees.  It  was  a  cabin  for  a  pauper.  Couldn't 
John  see  that  ?  John  saw  nothing  but  a  trumpery 
rose! 

She  threw  the  leaves  and  the  letters  and  John's 
picture  into  the  box  and  shut  down  the  lid  with 
a  snap. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

MILLY  found  Mr.  Hears  at  the  luncheon  table, 
talking  of  the  Ward  for  Incurables;  then  he 
diverged  to  the  home  missionary  field  in  Lux- 
borough,  and  presently  meandered  to  his  Colonies 
in  the  South.  There  was  an  intentness  in  his 
fluent  voice  and  hazy  eyes  which  made  each  work, 
as  he  talked  of  it,  seem  to  bulge  until  it  filled  the 
horizon,  and  become  the  only  thing  worth  living 
for.  Even  Milly's  brain  began  to  swim.  Anne 
replied  intelligently,  but  her  face  grew  jaded  and 
pinched. 

The  doctor  shuffled  uneasily,  and  at  last  broke 
into  the  steady  monotone. 

"  Have  a  bit  of  beef,  Hears  ?  Three  hundred 
juvenile  criminals!  I  don't  know  how  you  carry 
them  all  on  your  mind,  I'm  sure!  I  used  to  find 
three  or  four  croupy  children  load  enough  for 
me.  I  can't  shoulder  my  fellow-creatures  in  a 
mass.  Heard  the  last  news  from  Philadelphia  ? 
Enormous  rise  in  oil  stock  to-day.  Franciscus 
told  me.  Our  friend  Plunkett  played  a  bold 
game." 

"I  did  hear  some  talk  of  it,"  Hr.  Hears  said, 
blinking  as  he  dragged  his  mind  down  to  Plunkett 
and  oil. 

"  Did  he  win  ?  "  cried  Anne.  "  I  hope  he  won. 
Poor  David!  " 


238 


"Yes.  Franciscus  said  there  had  been  no  such 
successful  coup  in  the  market  in  his  remem 
brance,"  said  the  doctor  importantly.  "  David 
Plunkett  is  now  one  of  the  four  richest  men  in 
the  United  States." 

Mr.  Mears  listened  civilly,  and  then  in  an  un 
dertone  began  to  explain  the  prospects  of  a  State 
Insane  Asylum  to  Anne,  and  talked  until  luncheon 
was  over,  when  he  hastily  bade  them  good-by,  as 
he  had  to  make  a  train  to  Harrisburg  to  push  a 
reform  bill  through. 

"  Whew-w!  "  The  doctor  gave  a  sigh  of  relief 
as  the  door  closed  behind  him.  "  Give  me  a  cup 
of  tea.  My  mind  is  too  little  to  be  spread  over 
such  big  ideas.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Anne!  "  with 
a  gasp  of  dismay,  "  I  forgot!  Mears  is  a  noble 
fellow." 

"  Yes,  he  is,"  Anne  said  quietly. 

"And  his  work  is  noble.  There's  a  good  deal 
of  it,  to  be  sure." 

"  There  could  be  none  more  unselfish  or  Christ- 
like,"  she  said,  with  a  little  heat. 

"Of  course!  Didn't  I  say  so?  You  always 
had  aspirations  for  that  sort  of  thing,  dear,  and  it 

seems  providential  that You  are  bringing 

so  much  practical  ability  to  it,  too.  That  does 
surprise  me.  Well,"  he  broke  out,  rising  suddenly 
and  pushing  his  cup  back,  "  it's  a  fine  destiny  for 
a  woman  to  be  chosen  by  such  a  great  man  as  his 
comrade  and  helper." 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,  father,"  she  said  gravely. 

"  I — I  suppose  there  is  no  doubt  that  Mears 
wishes  you  to  be  his  wife,  Nancy  ?  " 


239 


"  No.     There  is  no  doubt." 

She  was  standing  by  the  window,  looking  out  at 
the  rain-swept  hills.  There  was  no  blush  or  hesi 
tation  in  her  face. 

The  doctor  trotted  up  and  down  the  room  un 
certainly,  glancing  at  Milly  for  help;  but  she 
stitched  on  in  silence.  He  stopped  at  last. 

"I  hope  you  may  be  very — My  little 'girl — 
Nancy  ?  "  laying  his  trembling  hand  on  her  arm. 

She  stooped  and  kissed  it.  "I  know  all  you 
want  to  say,  daddy,"  she  said.  But  she  did  not 
smile,  and  her  face  was  still  strained  and  pinched. 
She  gathered  up  her  accounts  calmly  and  went 
out.  The  doctor  looked  after  her.  Anne  never 
had  seemed  so  horribly  superior  to  him  before. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  all  decided,"  he  said  ruefully. 

"  It  looks  like  it.  A  very  good  thing  for  Anne 
too.  A  queer  couple!  "  Milly  added,  with  a  harsh 
laugh.  "Two  allied  benevolences!  I  wish  Nancy 
could  have  married  a  human  being,  for  love. 
Poor  child!  She  will  have  no  dear  mean  little 
house  to  make  ready  for  any  body! "  Milly 
looked  at  the  silk  pillow  cover  which  she  was 
embroidering.  It  was  for  John.  When  he  came 
home  tired  he  would  lie  down  and  rest  his 
picturesque  old  head  just  there.  She  stroked  the 
place  tenderly. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  father  ?  No.  Let  your 
spores  alone.  I  want  to  ask  you — What  was  it 
we  were  talking  of?  Oh,  oil  stock!  What  did 
you  say  about  David  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  heard.  The  news  has  been  cabled 
all  over  the  world  by  this  time.  It's  an  awful 


240 


thing  for  one  man  to  shoulder  that  mass  of 
money." 

"And  such  a  man!  "  cried  Milly  shrilly.  "  He 
looks  like  a  huge  tobacco-worm  set  on  end, 
with  his  leering,  pasty  face!  " 

"  Mildred!  " 

"  I  can't  help  it!  "  She  stood  up,  with  a  ner 
vous  shiver. 

"  David  has  many  good  traits,"  said  the  doctor 
gravely.  "  He  is  underbred,  of  course.  But  he 
means  well.  I  intend  to  give  him  some  hints. 
The  other  day  he  bought  a  thousand  acres  on 
Delaware  bay,  and  bragged  that  he  would  build 
the  finest  house  in  America— copy  of  Warwick 
Castle.  What  does  he  know  of  architecture  ?  I 
must  give  him  some  hints.  He  ought  to  help 
Luxborough  charities." 

"The  Joyce  estate  has  gone  to  them." 

"Pah!  The  Joyce  estate  is  a  bagatelle  com 
pared  to  David's  fortune." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  David  could  buy  out  half  the 
petty  potentates  in  Europe.  By  the  way," 
fumbling  in  his  pockets,  "I  forgot.  Here  is  a 
telegram  from  him.  '  Shall  be  in  Luxborough 
to-day.  Will  drop  in  to  dinner,  if  I  may.'  ' 

"To-night?  " 

"Yes.  What's  the  matter  ?  He  is  here  every 
week.  He  is  no  rarity,  Heaven  knows." 

"  He  must  have  sent  that  despatch  as  soon  as 
he  found  that  he  had  won  the  game." 

"  Probably.  What  of  it  ?  There  is  the  train 
now.  Be  civil  to  him,  Mildred,"  he  said  severely, 


241 


as  he  went  out.  The  reticent,  gentle  Mildred 
had  grown  shrewish  and  vulgar  lately;  he  could 
not  blind  himself  to  that.  "A  tobacco-worm!" 
Mrs.  Joyce's  death  had  unnerved  the  poor  child, 
he  thought. 

She  stood  now,  hesitating,  looking  down  at  her 
black  gown.  David  hated  black  on  a  woman. 
He  noticed  women's  clothes  and  talked  much  of 
them.  Like  a  man  milliner!  she  said  with  a 
sneer.  There  was  a  pale  blue  frock  which  he 
liked  to  see  her  wear,  with  her  hair  curly  and 
loose. 

She  folded  the  cover  of  John's  cushion  with 
shaking  fingers.  "I  must  wear  the  blue!"  she 
said  loudly.  "  I  must  wear  the  blue." 

But  when  she  reached  the  door  she  turned 
and  came  quickly  back,  twisting  up  her  hair  in  a 
tight  knot,  and  taking  up  John's  cushion  sat 
down  in  her  shabby  black  gown  to  wait  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

DAVID,  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  special  car  that 
afternoon,  was  filled  with  a  strange  exaltation, 
new  in  his  life.  The  whole  world  was  talking 
now  of  him  and  his  great  trick  and  the  millions 
he  had  won.  He  did  not  care  for  the  millions. 

"  I  had  enough  before,"  he  muttered  carelessly. 
"But  I  was  the  only  man  with  the  wit  to  see 
that  chance  !  It  was  my  trick.  Me,  Me — Dave 
Plunkett,  who  can't  spell,  and  never  reads  a  book. 
There's  a  big  brain  here,  after  all,"  knocking  his 
fist  on  his  forehead. 

One  of  the  evening  papers  had  called  him  the 
"  Napoleon  of  finance."  He  had  cut  out  the  line 
and  put  it  in  his  pocket  book.  He  took  it  out 
and  looked  at  it  from  time  to  time,  his  huge  face 
glowing. 

To-day  for  the  first  time  he  knew  that  he  had 
a  great  mind.  He  was  simple  and  happy  as  a 
boy  with  his  first  prize  at  school.  He  was  going 
to  tell  his  triumph  to  Milly,  of  course.  She  was 
the  only  human  being  he  loved  in  the  world.  He 
had  always  loved  her. 

"She'll  marry  me  now,"  he  repeated  a  thou 
sand  times.  "  She'll  see  what  I  am.  The  whole 
country  sees  it  now.  I'm  the  master  of  my 
trade!"  He  laughed  and  shouted  out  songs,  so 
loudly  that  the  thunder  of  the  train  scarcely 


243 


drowned  his  noise.  When  they  stopped  at  a 
station  he  poured  out  his  oaths  on  the  brakemen 
and  drank  huge  drams  of  whiskey.  It  was  flat  as 
water  to  him,  so  hot  was  the  fire  of  exultation 
and  passion  within. 

The  rain  had  ceased  before  he  reached  the 
Luxborough  station:  the  sunset  shone  on  the 
wet  meadows  and  dripping  trees.  Plunkett,  his 
head  thrust  forward,  pushed  past  old  Jem  and  his 
cab  and  climbed  the  hill  toward  The  Oaks,  panting 
for  breath. 

She  must  marry  him  now.  He  would  not  wait 
a  day  !  All  his  old  doubts  and  suspicions  of 
Milly  vanished  in  the  fury  of  his  triumph,  like 
gnats  in  a  flame.  She  was  the  one  living  woman 
on  earth,  and  he  was  worthy  of  her.  The  Napo 
leon  of  finance  ! 

As  he  climbed  the  hill,  his  huge  mass  of  flesh 
weighed  on  him.  He  " damned  the  fat"  more 
than  once.  Within,  he  was  young  and  alert  and 
handsome — a  king  among  men.  Oddly  enough, 
David  never  had  recognized  his  own  hideous 
ugliness.  He  invariably  thought  of  himself  as  a 
gallant,  brilliant  young  fellow;  and  always  saw 
the  vapid  clown's  face  in  the  glass  as  a  stranger's, 
with  a  vague  surprise. 

Milly  would  know  him  now.  He  had  taken  his 
place  among  the  great  intellectual  forces  of  the 
day.  His  soul  looked  through  his  dull  eyes  over 
the  world,  with  full  consciousness  of  power. 

Some  men  passing  stared  curiously  at  him. 
"  A  hundred  millions,"  he  heard  them  say,  and 
scowled  savagely  at  them. 


244 


Money  !     Was  there  nothing  of  him  but  money! 

The  doctor  hurried  across  the  lawn  to  meet 
him,  smiling.  "  I  congratulate  you,  my  boy,"  he 
said.  "  Franciscus  tells  me  you  are  to-day  one 
of  the  richest  men  in  the  United  States." 

"Damn  Franciscus!  How  can  he  understand 
me  ?  They  all  talk  of  me  as  if  I  were  nothing 
but  a  rich  man.  When  you  stick  a  knife  into 
me,  gold  don't  run  out.  It's  blood,  like  any 
other  man's  !  "  They  plodded  on  in  silence. 
David  suddenly  halted  and  pointed  to  the  grave 
among  the  crocuses.  "S/ie  didn't  talk  of  me 
like  that  !  "  he  said,  in  a  low  voice.  "  She  saw 
what  I  was." 

"  She  thought  you  a  poet,  I've  been  told,  David," 
the  doctor  said  soothingly. 

"  Poet  ?  I  don't  know.  I  can't  tell  what  I  may 
do  in  the  future,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  We'll 
see.  When  I  was  a  boy,  I  thought  I  wrote  pretty 
fair  poetry.  If  I  get  what  I  want  to-day,  I'll  make 
a  man  of  myself.  If  I  get  it — 

The  doctor  watched  him  askance  as  they  went 
into  the  house.  Plunkett  was  strangely  excited 
to-day.  But  was  it  any  wonder  ?  A  hundred 
millions 

"  Milly,"  he  said,  hurrying  in,  "  here  is  David. 
Come  to  take  pot-luck  with  us.  Come  in,  Plun 
kett.  Why  do  you  stand  out  there  ?  Ring  the 
bell,  Mildred,  for  Peter." 

David  stood  just  inside  the  door,  immovable. 
"  You  do  not  say  that  you  are  glad  to  see  me, 
Milly?"  he  said,  in  his  hoarse  voice. 

"  Why,  of  course  I'm  glad,  David,"  she  piped 


v  !|: 


245 


feebly,  without  looking  up,  being  busy  with  her 
embroidery.  She  felt  his  eyes  on  her;  and,  pres 
ently,  peeped  up  through  her  curly  lashes. 

How  she  loathed  the  huge  creature  standing 
there,  with  his  great,  obese  body  and  round, 
unmeaning  face!  She  stitched  on.  Just  here, 
on  these  roses,  John  would  rest  his  dear  old  head, 
when  he  came  home  tired,  to  the  mean  cabin — 
she  in  her  calico  gown!  She  peeped  up  again. 

A  hundred  millions! 

Some  mighty  power  outside  of  herself  dragged 
her  to  her  feet.  Her  hands  dropped.  The 
embroidery  fell  to  the  ground. 

"  Doctor,"  said  Plunkett,  "  I  want  to  see  Milly 
alone  for  a  few  minutes.  We'll  walk  down  the 
hill." 

"  It's  very  wet,  David.  And  dinner  is  almost 
ready,"  protested  the  doctor,  uneasily. 

Milly  hesitated.  Plunkett  waited,  looking  at 
her,  without  a  word.  Why  should  she  stand 
there  apart  from  him,  her  head  on  one  side,  like 
a  cooing,  coquettish  bird  ?  Had  he  not  wanted 
her  all  of  his  life  ?  Every  drop  of  his  hot  blood 
claimed  her.  This  palaver  about  the  damp  and 
dinner  maddened  him.  Why  should  he  not  rush 
forward  and  take  her  now  ?  No  doubt  the  blood 
of  some  of  his  ancestors — cave  men  who  clutched 
the  women  they  chose  and  carried  them  off  to 
pick  the  wolves'  bones  with  them — was  hot  in  his 
veins  to-day. 

Yet  he  only  said  quietly,  "  Will  you  come  with 
me?  I  want  to  talk  to  you  a  little." 

He    opened    the    door    again.     Milly    looked 


246 


steadily,  not  at  him,  but  at  the  embroidery  on  the 
ground.  Then  she  followed  him,  leaving  it  there. 
But  she  beat  with  her  finger  incessantly  on  her 
smiling  mouth,  like  a  machine,  as  she  went  down 
the  hill,  saying  to  herself,  "  John — John." 

David  did  not  stop  until  he  came  to  her  mother's 
grave. 

"  You  know  what  I  want  to  say  to  you,"  he  said 
abruptly.  "  You  have  always  known  it.  You 
pretended  you  didn't,  with  your  pretty  little  tricks. 
Don't  be  tricky  to-day,  Milly,  for  God's  sake!  " 

"What  did  you  bring  me  here  for?"  she  cried, 
pointing  to  the  grave. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  couldn't  help  it.  She  was 
about  the  only  friend  I  ever  had,  and  I  want  her 
to  hear.  When  you  were  a  little  thing,  tagging 
after  her,  I  wanted  you  for  my  wife." 

"  Your  wife?     I—-" 

"I  feel  as  if  I  had  a  right  to  ask  you  now," 
said  David,  lifting  his  head  proudly.  "I've 
proved  to-day  that  I  am — not  a  fool— 

The  sun  shone  in  his  face,  the  birds  were  chirp 
ing,  the  grass  was  blue  with  flowers.  He  felt  as 
if  he  suddenly  were  crowned  a  man  of  men,  and 
spoke  resolutely  and  with  force. 

"  There's  only  one  woman  in  the  world,  and 
that  is  you,  Milly — for  me.  Wrhy,  I  love  you 
so  that  night  after  night  I've  gone  on  my  knees 
and  prayed  God  to  give  you  to  me.  And  to 
day,  when  I  saw  what  the  paper  called  me,  and 
knew  there  was  something  in  me  after  all,  I 
thought,  'He  has  done  it!  She'll  come  now!  ' ' 

"You    want    me    to    marry   you?1'      she    said 


247 


slowly,  looking  up  at  him  through  her  half-closed 
eyes.  Something  in  the  look  silenced  David. 
He  watched  her,  drawing  his  breath  heavily  once 
or  twice. 

"  No,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Not  unless  you  love 
me.  If  there's  any  body  else,  say  it.  That 
Soude  fellow  is  somewhere.  If  you  love  him,  go 
to  him.  I'm  a  man.  I'll  bear  it.  Don't  let  the 
money  come  in.  Don't  let  the  money  damn  my 
whole  life.  For  God's  sake,  Milly,  tell  me  the 
truth,  to-day.  If  you  can't  love  me,  say  so. 
Don't  sell  yourself  to  me." 

"  Come  away  from  here !  "  she  cried,  looking  at 
the  grave  with  whitening  lips.  "  This  is  no  place 
for  your  love-making." 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  dear  soul  down  there." 
He  took  her  by  the  wrists.  "  Tell  me.  It  is 
only  a  word.  You  won't  lie  to  me  when  she  can 
hear.  Do  you  love  me  ?  " 

He  drew  her  near  to  him.  She  stared  up  into 
the  round  pasty  face.  Behind  her  innocent  eyes 
was  a  soul  in  extremity,  but  David  saw  nothing 
of  that. 

In  the  silence  the  grasshoppers  chirped  shrilly. 

"One  of  the  four  richest  men  in  America," 
her  father  had  said. 

It  would  be  higher  than  a  throne.  And  the 
dusty  cabin  in  Camp  Street,  and  the  beggarly 
gowns,  as  long  as  she  lived!  As^  long  as  she 
lived! 

She  smiled  up  into  his  face. 

"  I  love  you,  David,"  she  said,  steadily. 


248 


His  whole  huge  body  panted.  He  gathered 
her  up  into  his  arms  and  kissed  her  lips. 

"  Oh,  my  God !  "  she  gasped,  as  he  set  her 
down.  A  cold,  clammy  sweat  broke  over  her 
body. 

But  she  still  smiled  up  at  him. 

David  did  not  smile.  He  was  too  deeply 
moved  and  excited.  He  said,  "  I  can't  go  back 
and  talk  about  dinner  and  folly.  This  is  the  day 
of  my  life.  I  want  you.  I  have  waited  a  great 
many  years.  Put  on  your  hat  and  come  down 
to  the  station.  In  an  hour  we  can  cross  the  line 
into  Jersey  and  you  will  be  my  wife  to-night. 
Will  you  come?" 

She  stood  bending  before  him,  overpowered, 
he  thought,  by  his  love.  Poor  little  thing!  He 
watched  her  fondly,  reverently,  as  he  would  an 
innocent  child. 

In  those  swift  minutes  Milly's  busy  brain 
scanned  all  the  difficulties  which  would  be  sur 
mounted  by  this  hasty  marriage. 

"  And  I  will  have  no  chance  to  repent,"  she 
thought,  beating  her  white  lips  again  with  her 
finger. 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  choose,"  she  said  aloud. 
She  came  directly,  decisively  to  him.  She 
stepped  upon  the  grave  to  do  it. 

But  there  was  nothing  down  in  that  grave,  for 
her,  but  clay  and  sodden  grass. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

OLD  Luxborough  shuddered  to  its  depths  with 
honest  disgust  at  the  news  of  Mildred's  runaway 
marriage.  The  women  were  most  vehement. 
David  was  a  monster,  Milly  a  mercenary  little 
minx.  She  never  had  been  content  with  the  foot 
ing  in  society  which  her  birth  gave  her,  but  made 
vulgar  pretences  of  fashion.  All  of  the  poor  little 
woman's  secret  devices  to  make  a  show — her  cheap 
suppers,  her  paste  pearls,  her  home-made  Worth 
gowns — had,  it  appeared,  been  known  to  them 
for  years,  and  were  now  dragged  to  remembrance 
amid  shrill  peals  of  laughter.  The  men,  accord 
ing  to  the  wont  of  men,  said  little,  but  felt  them 
selves  to  be  quite  judicial  in  their  remarks. 
Plunkett,  they  declared,  was  a  lout,  a  mere  bag 
of  money.  No  doubt  the  poor  little  girl  had 
been  forced  into  the  thing.  Nobody  could  look 
into  that  innocent  face  and  suspect  her  of  any 
worldly  wisdom.  Most  probably  the  old  doctor 
had  contrived  the  bargain  and  sale.  A  lazy 
crank,  who  had  given  up  work  to  prowl  about 
picture-shops!  They  had  an  idea,  too,  that  Anne 
had  some  share  in  the  ugly  job.  What  could  you 
expect  of  an  eccentric,  strong-minded  female  ? 
A  very  likely  person  to  drive  that  soft,  feminine 
little  thing  into  it.  They  were  amused  at  their 
wives'  censure  of  Milly.  But  when,  they  said, 
were  women  ever  just  to  a  pretty  woman  ? 


250 


Meanwhile  Anne,  more  than  any  body  else,  bore 
the  brunt  of  the  blow.  The  catastrophe  in  the 
household  tore  away  all  that  was  false  and 
factitious  in  the  girl  as  a  sudden  death  would  have 
done.  She  said  nothing.  Whatever  was  her 
opinion  of  Mildred's  marriage,  nobody  has  ever 
heard  it  to  this  day. 

When  David's  despatch,  announcing  the  wed 
ding,  came  that  night,  the  doctor  raged  through 
the  house,  sobbing  and  trembling  like  a  child. 

"  She  has  disgraced  us!  I  will  never  hear  her 
name  again!  "  he  cried. 

It  was  Anne  who  thought  of  John  Soude. 

"  Yes,  write  to  him,  Nancy.  I  cannot.  Tell 
him  I  have  cast  her  off.  She  is  no  child  of 
mine!" 

"  I  will  telegraph  him.  He  must  not  be  left  to 
see  it  in  a  chance  newspaper,"  she  said. 

"  I  will  write  to  him  to-morrow,  then.  I  will 
wash  my  hands  of  the  whole  foul  business.  I  will 
tell  him  that  I  disown  her.  Never  speak  her 
name  to  me  again!  " 

Two  days  later,  a  letter  came  from  Mildred, 
dated  in  New  York,  quite  calm  and  affectionate, 
but  with  a  slight  tone  of  authority.  They  were 
about  to  sail  for  Havre,  and  would  not  return 
until  the  fall.  She  enclosed  a  check  for  five 
thousand  dollars.  "David  gave  it  to  me  to-day 
to  throw  away,  if  I  chose.  But  I  choose  to  give 
it  to  you,  dear  papa.  Deposit  it  at  once.  The 
interest  will  lighten  your  current  expenses. 
When  I  return  I  will  see  to  investing  it,  and  any 
other  sum  which  I  can  give  you,  in  a  permanent 


251 


way.  I  hope  now  to  make  your  life  and  Anne's 
more  comfortable,  my  dear  father." 

"We  will  deposit  it  for  her,"  said  Anne.  "  But 
we  will  not  draw  the  interest.  We  will  pay  our 
own  way.  We  are  partners  now,  daddy.  Just 
you  and  I." 

"Yes.  We  won't  use  the  money,  of  course.  It 
is  blood  money  in  my  opinion.  But,  it  was  sweet 
in  Milly  to  send  it,  Anne  ?  Very!  I'm  sure  I 
hope  that  we  can  pay  our  way.  But  you  must 
put  your  shoulder  to  the  wheel.  This  grind  is 
telling  on  me.  I  haven't  long  to  stay  in  the  world, 
Nancy,  and  I  must  give  myself  now  wholly  to  pure 
science.  I  can't  be  bothered  with  butcher's  bills." 

Anne  put  her  shoulder  to  the  wheel  with  a  will. 
The  bills  were  paid  more  promptly  now  that  there 
was  no  pretence  of  fashion  to  keep  up.  If  she 
had  lost  faith  in  her  father's  consecration  to  pure 
science,  she  did  not  hint  it.  When  he  sat  down 
to  write  about  his  microbes,  she  always  left  a  new 
novel  near  him,  and  went  out  of  the  room.  She 
contrived  excursions  to  New  York  or  to  the 
theatre,  which  they  enjoyed  as  keenly  as  mice  do 
their  play  when  the  cat  is  gone. 

But  when  Mr.  Hears  shared  his  thoughts  with 
Anne,  she  rose  into  an  ecstatic  fervor  very  dif 
ferent  from  this  jog-trot  happiness.  He  gave  her 
work  twice  a  week  in  Blockley  Almshouse  in 
Philadelphia,  and  she  would  walk  through  the 
wards  rapt  in  pious  ecstasy.  The  paupers  were 
so  wretched  and  vile,  and  she — "  Sent  of  God!  " 
she  would  say  to  herself.  "  Sent  of  God  to  them! 
I!  Stupid  Nancy  Warrick!"  Mears's  purity  and 


252 


unworldliness  impressed  her  more  and  more  as 
the  months  passed.  When  her  father  joked  about 
him,  it  hurt  her  as  if  he  had  jeered  at  her  religion. 
She  began  to  have  queer  thrills  of  awe  when  the 
man  spoke  to  her. 

Mrs.  Dane  and  Mr.  Franciscus  came  out  one 
day  in  September  to  luncheon,  and  left  the  table 
in  high  good  humor. 

"A  delicious  meal,  my  dear!"  Paul  said  gal 
lantly,  when  they  were  out  on  the  porch.  "  Who 
would  have  thought  our  little  de  Stael  would 
turn  out  a  good  cook  ? "  He  sauntered  out  to 
the  stable.  Cousin  Julia  laughed. 

"  How  like  a  man!  "  she  said.  "  As  if  a  clever 
woman  would  not  be  clever  in  a  kitchen!  I  think 
we  can  venture  to  sit  down  here,"  dropping  into 
a  hickory  rocking-chair.  Anne  sat  down  on  the 
steps  at  her  feet,  and  Mrs.  Dane  talked  on. 
"  There  was  frost  this  morning,  tut  the  sun  is 
warm.  You  ought  to  have  some  fancy-work.  In 
my  generation,  girls  did  not  sit  with  their  hands 
crossed  like  that.  But  you'll  do,  Anne,  you'll 
do!  "  nodding  affectionately  down  at  the  dark, 
sparkling  face  upturned  to  hers.  "  I  said  to  Paul 
this  morning,  '  Anne  is  wholly  satisfactory.'  As 
for  Mildred,  the  thing  is  monstrous!  A  girl 
should  be  duly  prudent,  of  course,  and  that  Soude 
engagement  was  pure  madness.  Those  people 
were  only  well-bred  paupers.  A  due  prudence, 
of  course — but — David  Plunkett!  Why,  my  dear, 
he  is  brutal.  Did  you  ever  see  him  gorge  terra 
pin  ?  Not  all  of  his  hundred  millions  can  make 
me  forget  that  sight.  Oh!  I  didn't  mean  to 


253 


worry  you,  Anne,"  with  a  quick  glance  at  the 
girl's  face.  "  But,  as  I  told  you,  I  said  to  Paul, 
'Anne  will  vindicate  the  family  honor.'  You're 
such  a  good  daughter,  so  loyal  and  tender,  and  a 
careful  little  housekeeper,  and  taking  a  prominent 
part  in  public  charitable  work  too.  Oh,  these 
things  tell,  child,  in  the  world's  eye!  'Let  your 
light  so  shine,'  we  are  commanded.  And  Lux- 
borough  is  watching  you,  Anne." 

Anne  laughed.  "  It  usually  is  occupied  with 
some  trifle,"  she  said. 

"  Don't  say  snappish  things  like  that.  Noth 
ing  kills  a  girl  socially  so  fast  as  a  sarcastic  habit. 
There  is  no  dearth  of  intelligence  in  old  Luxbor- 
ough,  and  it  is  watchingjw;,"  she  repeated  signifi 
cantly.  There  was  no  answer.  "  You  will  have 
a  warm  welcome  when  you  take  your  rightful 
place  in  society  there,"  she  added  tentatively. 
Still  Anne  made  no  reply. 

Cousin  Julia  put  her  arm  around  her  shoulder. 
"  I  ask  no  questions,  Nancy,"  she  said  tenderly. 
"Still — You  seem  like  a  daughter  to  us — Paul 
and  me.  It  will  make  us  very  happy  to  see  you 
Mr.  Mears's  wife."  She  felt  the  girl's  body  start 
and  shrink  beneath  her  arm,  and  smiled  to  her 
self.  "  He  is  a  great  and  a  good  man.  You  will 
have  a  commanding  position,  where  you  can  help 
many  people.  And  much  more — much !  Mr. 
Mears  belongs  to  the  oldest  family  in  Luxborough. 
His  income " 

"  Oh,  he  is  more  than  all  that  !  "  said  Anne 
vehemently.  "  He  is  like  St.  Augustine.  He 
lives  away  up  there  above  other  people " 


\ 

^ 


254 


"  Then  why  in  Heaven's  name  don't  you  decide 
to  live  with  him?"  Mrs.  Dane  broke  in  sharply. 

11  For  one  thing,  I'm  not  fit.  Oh,  cousin  Julia, 
you  don't  understand.  If  I  fasted  and  prayed  for 
years  I  should  not  be  fit  to  be  that  man's  wife, 
nor  to  help  him  in  his  work." 

"Fasted  and  prayed!  Fiddlestick!  If  you 
made  some  new  gowns  and  baked  cake  for  your 
wedding,  you  would  be  much  more  in  the  line  of 
your  duty,"  cried  Mrs.  Dane  angrily.  Then  con 
trolling  herself,  she  took  Anne's  hand  gently. 
"  You  wish  to  help  him,  dear  ?  "  she  said.  "You 
have  been  groping  all  of  your  life  for  some  great 
work.  Here  it  is.  God  gives  it  to  you.  You 
see  that  you  ought  to  do  it  ? " 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"Well,"  dropping  her  hand  with  an  impatient 
sigh,  "we  will  not  talk  of  it  any  more  to-day. 
Here  comes  Paul  with  the  buggy.  I  must  go. 
Will  you  bring  out  my  cloak,  dear  ?  Oh,  look, 
Anne  !  Who  is  that  coming  up  from  the  station 
with  your  father  ?  It  looks  like  that  man,  Calhoun." 

"Yes.  It  is  Brooke,"  said  Mr.  Franciscus. 
"We  must  wait  to  welcome  him  home." 

"I  am  not  anxious  to  do  it,  Heaven  knows! 
A  coarse-grained,  loutish  fellow  !  I  thought  we 
were  rid  of  him  !  "  Mrs.  Dane  said  irritably,  with 
a  furtive  glance  at  Anne.  "  They  told  me  he 
had  found  work  somewhere  ?  " 

"Yes.  So  he  had,"  said  Mr.  Franciscus 
leisurely,  stroking  his  horse.  "  But  Brodie,  to 
whom  he  mortgaged  the  farm,  had  an  opening  in 
California,  and  he  offered  to  lease  the  place  to 


255 


Calhotm.  He  was  telling  me  about  it  yesterday. 
He  expected  Brooke  to-day.  They  think  it  will 
pay  as  a  dairy  farm." 

"Ah,  cows?"  sniffed  Cousin  Julia  contemptu 
ously.  "  Well,  I  should  think  Mr.  Calhoun  had 
found  the  right  niche  for  himself — tending  cattle 
and  selling  milk." 

"Julia!"  said  Mr.  Franciscus  sternly,  "you 
women  are  always  blind  in  your  judgment  of 
a  man  who  does  not  belong  to  your  set!  You 
know,  as  well  as  I  do,  why  Calhoun  is  penniless 
and  homeless  at  his  time  of  life." 

"I  know  that  his  brother  is  said  to  have 
ruined  him.  Well,  Paul,  I  may  be  weak-minded 
and  a  woman,  but  one  faculty  I  have.  I  am  a  judge 
of  character:  and  Edward  has  always  seemed  to 
me  the  finer  man  of  the  two.  Eccentric,  I  grant. 
But  he  has  soul— genius!  The  other  is  a  clod." 

Paul  laughed.  "  Ned's  eccentricity  has  turned 
into  a  new  channel  now,  Brodie  told  me.  He  has 
taken  to  opium  this  summer.  Brooke  took  him 
away  from  the  Soudes,  and  has  had  the  doctors 
at  work  to  cure  him.  But— Ned  has  found  one 
thing  at  last  in  which  he  can  persevere." 

"Opium?  Oh!"  said  Mrs.  Dane,  with  a 
shudder.  "  And  Brooke  has  taken  him  in  hands  ? 
It's  a  job  for  life.  Well,  he  is  a  good  fellow,"  she 
said  frankly,  finding  that  Anne  was  not  in  hear 
ing.  She  had  gone  in  for  the  cloak,  and  coming 
back,  she  stood  waiting,  watching  the  short,  stout 
man  as  he  climbed  the  slope  to  the  house. 

"As  indifferently,  thank  Heaven!"  thought 
Mrs.  Dane,  "as  if  he  were  a  cart  horse!  " 


256 


Mr.  Franciscus,  too,  scanned  Calhoun  with  a 
critical  eye.  He  could  appreciate  his  sweet  moral 
nature,  but  he  could  not  forgive  his  kneed  trousers 
and  slovenly  necktie.  A  man,  he  held,  should  look 
to  his  hat  and  gloves  if  he  were  going  to  the  stake. 

"Poor  devil!  "  he  said  to  Anne,  "he  is  going 
down-hill,  fast!  There  are  some  men  born  to  ill 
luck.  There's  a  God  over  all,  too.  It's  queer! 
That  fellow  started  as  a  boy  with  high  ambitions, 
and  he  has  done  the  best  he  could,  yet  for  the 
rest  of  his  life  he  will  sell  quarts  of  milk  and  be 
the  keeper  of  a  drunkard." 

"  Nothing  more  than  that  ?  "  said  Anne  slowly. 
She  was  looking  intently  at  Brooke,  who  took  off 
his  hat  and  waved  it  to  her  in  the  old  boyish  way. 
But  his  beard  she  saw  was  grizzled:  his  look  that 
of  a  middle-aged  man  who  had  fought  hard  and 
been  worsted.  There  was  a  history  in  his  face 
which  never  had  been  there  before.  She  leaned 
over  the  railings;  the  blood  rushed  to  her  head. 
She  could  not  breathe,  so  eager  was  her — curi 
osity.  What  was  this  story  hinted  in  his  face  ? 
It  never  had  been  there  before! 

"  No,  I  do  not  see  any  chance  for  him,"  said 
Mr.  Franciscus  judicially.  "Men  do  not  win 
fame  or  fortune  peddling  milk,  especially  when 
loaded  with  a  weight  like  Edward.  And  opium 
eaters  live  long.  How  are  you,  Mr.  Calhoun  ? 
You  are  welcome  home!  "  going  down  to  him 
gayly,  with  outstretched  hand.  Mrs.  Dane,  too, 
was  polite  and  friendly.  There  was  a  little  flurry 
of  welcomes  and  questions  and  good-bys,  and 
then  Mr.  Franciscus  and  Mrs.  Dane  drove  away. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

CALHOUN  found  himself  seated  beside  Anne  on 
the  old  settee  on  the  porch,  while  the  doctor  fussed 
up  and  down,  giving  orders  to  Peter  and  Jane. 

Brooke  looked  after  him,  the  old  sweet  affec 
tionate  smile  lightening  his  heavy  face.  "  He  has 
not  altered  one  bit !  "  he  said. 

"  No." 

"  Nor  you,"  his  keen  blue  eyes  on  her  face. 

"  You  have  only  been  gone  one  summer,"  she 
said,  moving  uneasily. 

His  eyes  still  rested  on  hers;  he  averted  them 
with  a  sudden  consciousness.  He  reminded  him 
self  that  there  was  nothing  to  say  between  them 
now.  That  was  all  over  long  ago — on  the  day  in 
New  Orleans  when  he  decided  to  shoulder  Ned 
for  life. 

He  began  to  tell  her  of  his  journey  yesterday, 
and  its  funny  incidents.  Queer  adventures  were 
always  happening  to  Brooke. 

"Now,  I  suppose,  Calhoun,"  said  the  doctor, 
bustling  up,  "  that  in  taking  the  farm  your  idea  is 
to  pay  off  the  mortgage  some  day." 

"  I  certainly  shall  try  for  it,"  he  said  cheer 
fully.  "If  I  could  call  the  old  place  mine  again, 
it  would  be  one  solid  good  in  my  life." 

"Why  didn't  you  try  ranching  in  the  West? 
17 


258 


Enormous  profits  out  there  for  a  man  of  skill  and 
energy." 

"That  big  farming  does  not  interest  me," 
Brooke  said  indifferently.  "  I  know  every  foot  of 
my  old  place.  Every  tree  and  stone  means  some 
thing  to  me.  But  a  ranche  would  be  only  so 
much  soil  and  crops.  I'm  afraid,"  he  said,  with 
a  deprecatory  glance  at  Anne,  "  I  hardly  belong  to 
this  ambitious  generation.  I  never  shall  fight 
hard  for  money  or  position.  I  don't  want  to 
keep  up  with  the  procession." 

"  You  think,"  said  the  doctor,  knitting  his  brows 
anxiously,  "that  a  higher  life  can  be  reached 
through  indifference  to  luxury,  simple  routine— re 
pose  ?  You  are  right,  boy  !  Now  /  find  pure 
science  most  elevating— But,  good  gracious, 
Brooke,  what  can  you  do  in  any  direction  ?  You 
can  neither  make  money  nor  reputation  as  long  as 
poor  Ned  is  with  you." 

Calhoun's  face  contracted  as  if  he  had  been 
struck.  He  did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  and 
then  it  was  with  effort. 

"My  first  duty  is  to  Edward,"  he  said.  "I 
have  not  told  you."  He  rose  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  porch.  "  Nobody  knows  the  truth  ex 
cept  the  physicians,  but  you  are  so  near  to 


me- 


His  back  was  toward  Anne  and  he  spoke  to  her 
father;  but  she  answered  him,  in  a  whisper: 

"Yes,  we  are  the  nearest  to  you." 

He  heard  her. 

"You  mean  the  opium  ?"  said  the  doctor.  "  I 
have  heard  that;  poor  boy!  " 


"ON    THE    OLD    SETTEE    ON    THE    PORCH 


259 


"  It  is  no  new  thing.  We  find  that  he  has  been 
addicted  to  it  for  years.  There  is  no  hope  of  a 
cure,  the  doctors  tell  me." 

"  Not  in  an  asylum  ?  "  said  the  doctor.  "  They 
have  a  system  now " 

"  No.  That  I  will  never  do ! "  exclaimed 
Brooke.  "  I  don't  care  what  the  doctors  say.  I 
will  cure  him,  and  at  home,  too.  Think  of  shut 
ting  up  that  fellow  in  captivity!  I'll  watch  him 
day  and  night.  I'll  try  and  bring  what  chance  of 
happiness  I  can  into  his  poor  spoiled  life.  They 
tell  me  he  may  long  outlive  me.  His  physical 
health  is  perfect." 

He  stretched  out  his  arms  with  a  long  breath 
and  sat  down.  The  doctor  hopped  around  him 
sparrow-like,  with  little  pitying  clucks. 

"  Tut,  tut!  And  to  think  what  a  brilliant  career 
was  before  Ned !  Why  didn't  he  restrain  himself  ? " 

"He  couldn't!"  Calhoun  said  angrily.  "He 
is  not  responsible!  It  is  hereditary,  no  doubt,  in 
his  mother's  family.  He  is  no  more  to  blame  for 
it  than  if  it  were  tubercular  consumption.  I  will 
have  no  injustice  to  Ned." 

"  No,  no!  "  chirped  the  doctor  feebly.  His  face 
suddenly  lightened.  "Anne,  dear,  go  and  find — 
find  Mildred's  last  letter.  It  may  amuse  your 
cousin."  He  waited  impatiently  until  she  was 
gone.  "Brooke,  I  have  an  idea!  You  shall  not 
drudge  like  a  day  laborer,  with  that  boy  to  carry! 
Let  Plunkett  buy  the  farm  for  you.  He  is  a  gold 
mine.  Milly  has  but  to  ask  and  have.  I'll  write 
to  them  to-night.  It  is  a  bagatelle — nothing  to 
him." 


260 


Calhoun  reddened.  "  Nonsense!  Beg  from 
Plunkett!  What  do  you  take  me  for?  But  it  is 
just  your  kind  heart,"  laughing.  "If  you  were 
a  gold  mine,  I'd  dig  fast  enough."  % 

"Well,  just  as  you  choose,"  said  the  doctor. 
"  Anne  has  the  same  feeling.  She  will  not  accept 
a  penny  from  her  sister.  I  think  it  an  over 
strained  delicacy,  for  my  part." 

The  men  sat  silent  a  while.  The  house  dog 
came  up  to  Brooke,  who  stroked  its  head.  Pres 
ently  he  said,  in  a  forced  tone:  "Anne  will  never 
need  kindness  from  her  sister,  if  the  rumor  that 
I  hear  is  true.  They  say  that— 

"That  she  is  to  marry  Mr.  Hears?  Yes,  I 
suppose  that  it  is  so.  They  have  not  told  me  of 
their  engagement  yet.  But  he  is  most  persistent, 
and  Anne — it  is  very  suitable,  eh  ?  He  is  one 
of  the  saints  of  the  earth,  and  he  can  give  her 
every  thing — wealth,  position,  opportunity  for 
a  full  life.  Nancy  always  has  craved  a  great 
career." 

"Yes.  It  is  suitable."  Brooke  said  slowly,, 
and  then  sat  silent  again,  pulling  the  dog's  ears 
and  looking  down  the  slope. 

Anne  brought  the  letter  and  gave  it  to  her 
father,  who  put  on  his  eyeglasses  and  read  it 
with  many  delighted  important  chuckles.  "  Ber 
lin,  eh  ?  Yes,  this  is  the  one  about  the  Empress. 
Milly  was  presented,  you  see  ?  Ah — here  it  is." 
While  he  read  Anne  walked  with  long,  noiseless 
steps  up  and  down  the  porch,  and  Calhoun  sat 
silent.  He  did  not  once  look  toward  her. 

"Yes.     That's  all  she  says  about  the  Empress," 


26l 


the  doctor  said,  when  he  had  finished.  "  I  must 
look  up  Peter  now.  But  after  dinner  I  will  read 
you  all  the  others,  Brooke."  He  hurried  away. 

The  sun  was  going  down.  The  porch  was 
already  in  shadow  and  the  wind  chilly.  But 
yonder  the  spires  of  the  city  rose  airily  against 
the  red  sky,  a  cross  glittered  high,  and  the  chimes 
rang  out  softly. 

Calhoun  was  not  a  morbid  or  imaginative  man; 
but  his  life  seemed  to  stand  still  just  then  and 
face  him.  The  regular,  soft  footfall  passing — that 

was  his  little  comrade.     He  had  always  hoped 

But  she  belonged  down  there  where  the  sun  was 
shining.  "Wealth  and  position  and  a  great 
career —  A  man,  too,  who  was  noble,  doing 

Christ's  work. 

"  God  knows,  there's  no  soul  of  a  saint  in  me! " 
Brooke  thought,  glancing  down  at  his  stout  body 
and  coarse  hands.  He  had  nothing  to  say  to  her. 
He  had  chosen,  that  day  in  New  Orleans.  He 
would  bid  her  good-by  now,  and  never  come  to 
The  Oaks  again. 

The  farm  and  the  milk,  and  Ned — there  was 
his  place  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

He  got  up  when  Anne  turned  to  him,  and  began 
to  button  his  coat.  He  would  only  say  good-by, 
as  usual;  there  was  no  need  that  she  should 
know  that  it  was  for  the  last  time.  He  wanted 
no  questions,  no  kindness 

Then,  when  she  came  up,  without  looking  at 
her,  he  said,  "  Will  you  sit  down  here  beside 
me?  Just  a  minute.  I  have  something  to  say  to 
you." 


262 


She  sat  down,  but  did  not  speak.  He  fancied 
that  she  looked  down  to  the  city  where  the  light 
was,  and  the  cross,  and  the  man — to  whom  she 
belonged. 

"  I  have  something  to  say,"  he  went  on  hur 
riedly,  standing  before  her.  "  I  began  to  tell  you 
once,  but  did  not  finish.  I  am  a  fool  and  a  brute 
to  talk  to  you  of  it  now — only  to  pain  you."  He 
stopped  a  moment.  She  did  not  speak  nor  look 
at  him.  "  I  think  I  ought  to  tell  you.  So  much, 
at  least,  is  due  to  me.  It  cannot  hurt  you  to 
know  that  you  always  were  more  than  life  to  me. 
You  always  will  be.  It  can't  do  you  harm.  It 
may  make  you  think  kindly  of  me  now  and  then, 
and  that  will  be — something  for  me  to  have." 

She  spoke,  after  a  time,  with  an  effort,  still 
looking  down  at  the  far-off  light.  "  That  is  not 
much  to  have.  Have  you  nothing  else  to  hope 
for  ?  " 

"  No,  Anne.  You  know  what  my  life  has 
been  as  well  as  I  do.  Even  when  you  were  a 
child,  you  were  the  biggest  part  of  it.  You  were 
the  end  of  all  my  plans.  You  were  to  be  my  wife 
and  we  would  live  on  the  old  farm,  and  dear  old 
Ned  would  come  and  go,  winning  fame  and  glory 
for  us.  You  must  have  known  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  knew,"  she  said  quietly.  She  looked 
directly  at  him  now.  He  had  never  seemed  so 
ugly  or  heavy  to  her  before.  His  very  eyes  were 
sodden.  Something — courage,  hope,  his  God 
only  knew  what,  had  died  out  of  the  man. 

"  Things  have  gone  against  me,"  he  said,  with 
a  dreary  laugh.  "  I  ought  to  have  won  my  wife 


263 

and  my  place  like  other  men,  but  I  did  not.  I 
lacked  push— ability,  I  suppose.  I  did  what  seemed 
right  every  day,  and — here's  the  end  of  it!  You 
are  going  to  your  place  with  a  better  man. 
That's  right.  It  is  where  you  belong,  I  see  that. 
It  could  not  be  too  high  or  too  bright  for  you." 

"  And  you ?" 

"  Oh,  I  shall  work  the  farm  and  watch  Ned.  I 
shall  make  out!  "  with  a  sudden  effort  at  hearty 
cheerfulness.  "  Don't  worry  about  us.  We  shall 
be  comfortable  enough.  But  I  wanted  to  tell 
you  the  truth  about  it — what  you've  been  to  me  ? 
And  to  say  that  you  mustn't  be  hurt,  Nancy,  if  I 
do  not  come  here.  I  don't  want  ever  to  see  you 

again!  When  you  are  another  man's  wife 

Oh,  my  God!  I  can't  stand  it!  " 

He  caught  the  fringe  of  her  shawl  and  twisted 
it  in  his  fingers,  holding  it  to  his  mouth  as  he 
crouched  before  her. 

"  Why,  Brooke!  "  She  took  his  face  in  both  of 
her  hands.  "  Oh,  your  cheeks  are  wet!  Why, 
there  is  nobody  else!  It  is  you— you!  I  never 
meant  to  be  any  body's  wife  but  yours!  But  I 
thought  you  never  would  ask  me!  " 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

CALHOUN  went  home  early  that  night,  putting 
his  horse  to  the  gallop  as  soon  as  he  was  out  of 
the  gate.  Ned  had  not  heard  this  thing  that  had 
happened  to  him.  He  was  impatient,  even  when 
he  was  with  Anne,  to  know  what  the  dear  fellow 
would  say  when  he  heard  of  this  great  joy  com 
ing  into  their  lives. 

Ned  was  asleep,  but  he  routed  him  up  and 
told  the  news.  Edward  laughed  and  yawned. 
"  Anne,  eh  ?  You'll  be  a  queer  husband  for  une 
belle  P re' dense!" 

"Don't  talk  French,  Ned.  I  don't  understand 
it.  This  is  so  much  to  me!  I  thought  you'd  be 
glad.  You  might  as  well  talk  French  when  I  was 
dead  as  now." 

Ned  sat  up  in  the  bed.  "  Forgive  me,  dear  old 
man.  Here,  give  me  your  hand.  I'm  a  selfish 
brute.  But  you  were  as  triumphant  as  if  you'd 
won  the  Grand  Prix,  and  it  was  only  Nancy 
Warrick!  I'm  very  pleased,  really.  She  cer 
tainly  has  points  of  remarkable  beauty — eyes  like 
the  Ferroniere's — though  her  hands  and  feet  are 
atrocious.  But  that  needn't  worry  you.  We  all 
have  some  faults.  Well,  we'll  talk  it  over  to 
morrow.  I'm  horribly  sleepy.  God  bless  you 
and  your  wife! " 

He  was  not  sleepy.     His  bright  eyes  watched 


265 


the  lamp  for  hours  while  he  pondered  the  situa 
tion.  "It  will  never  do,"  was  his  decision  at 
last.  "There  can't  be  two  rulers  in  one  house. 
She  or  I  will  have  to  knuckle  under.  Well,  we'll 
see! "  and  then  he  fell  calmly  sleep. 

When  Anne  went  to  her  father  with  her  story 
he  expressed  great  concern.  "  But  really,  what 
have  you  to  live  on  ?  If  there  were  nothing  to 
consider  but  feelings,  I  should  give  you  my 
blessing,  and  be  very  glad " 

"You  are  glad,  and  you  know  it!"  laughed 
Nancy,  with  her  arms  about  his  neck.  He  kissed 
her. 

"I  don't  deny  that  it  is  a  relief.  Brooke  is 
like  a  boy  of  my  own,  and  Mr.  Mears— I'm  so  tired 
standing  on  tip-toe  to  catch  his  ideas!  But  tak 
ing  a  business  view  of  it,  child,  the  outlook  is 
alarming!  Naturally,  you,  being  a  woman,  don't 
take  that  view.  But  I  am  a  business  man." 

There  could  be  no  doubt,  however,  of  the 
doctor's  happiness  during  the  months  that 
passed  before  the  wedding.  He  thought  that 
his  anxiety  at  this  time  justified  a  temporary 
neglect  of  science.  His  microbes  dried  up  while 
he  trotted  from  The  Oaks  to  the  farm,  carry 
ing  over  every  trifle  which  could  make  Anne  feel 
at  home  in  her  new  life.  In  the  evening,  when 
Brooke  and  Anne  were  together,  he  would  come 
in  quite  accidentally,  book  in  hand,  and,  "being 
there,  might  he  read  a  passage  which  pleased 
him  just  now  ?  "  The  passage  was  invariably  on 
love,  whether  the  book  were  Shakspeare  or  one  of 
the  new  young  writer,  Bret  Harte's;  and  the  old 


266 


man's  cheek  would  redden  and  his  voice  choke 
as  he  read,  and  the  lovers  would  sit  with  averted 
eyes,  and  not  look  at  each  other  until  they  were 
alone.  For  they  had  the  sweet,  old-fashioned 
shyness  about  their  secret,  and  hid  it  from  the 
world.  It  was  so  holy  a  thing  that  even  to  think 
of  it  took  away  their  breath. 

During  these  months  Mrs.  Dane  often  visited 
The  Oaks. 

"  I  have  been  quite  frank  with  Anne,"  she  told 
Mr.  Franciscus  the  day  before  the  wedding,  when 
they  were  walking  out  together.  "I  told  her 
candidly  once  for  all  that  she  had  made  a  fatal 
mistake;  that  she  might  have  married  a  man  of 
intellect  and  position  instead  of  a  penniless 
drudge.  But  it  had  no  effect.  She  always  was 
obstinate,  so — let  it  go!"  shaking  her  fingers 
into  space.  "  Anne  Warrick  is  my  dear  daughter 
even  with  a  boor  for  a  husband." 

"  I  am  pleased  to  see  how  old  Luxborough 
has  acted  in  the  matter,"  said  Mr.  Franciscus. 
"There  was  a  good  deal  of  jealousy  when  Mears 
made  Anne  chief  cook  in  his  charities.  But  now 
that  she  is  to  marry  a  poor  man,  she  is  '  dear 
Nancy  '  to  them  all.  They  talk  of  making  her  a 
Patroness  of  the  next  annual  Club  Minuet." 

Cousin  Julia  nodded,  smiling.  "People  are 
pleased  with  her  choosing  the  poor  man  instead 
of  the  rich,"  she  said.  "Even  old  Luxborough 
'loves  a  lover.'  " 

Paul  pulled  at  his  Vandyke  beard  thoughtfully. 
"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  it  is  my  experience  that  decent, 
well-bred  people  always  stand  by  the  dog  that  is 


"'I'VE   BEEN   QUITE   FRANK    WITH    ANNE 


26? 


going  under  in  the  fight  Lose  your  money  or  be 
paralyzed  or  die,  and  all  that  is  good  in  your 
friends  comes  out.  But  be  successful,  and  they'll 
crowd  into  corners  and  sneer  at  you  behind  your 
back.  See  how  they  tore  poor  Milly  into  rags  as 
soon  as  she  had  her  millions." 

But  if  these  worldly  folk  felt  any  disapproval  of 
Anne's  fatal  mistake,  they  forgot  it  when  they 
reached  the  house.  Cousin  Julia  threw  off  her 
bonnet  and  anxiously  inspected  the  rooms,  made 
gay  with  flowers,  and  the  bill  of  fare  for  the  break 
fast.  "Very  good  taste.  Simple  and  dainty. 
Now,  my  dear,  for  the  presents,  and  your  gowns." 

Anne  brought  out  her  treasures  with  ecstatic 
little  laughs  and  blushes.  "No  girl  ever  had 
such  lovely  things!  "  she  cried,  "and  you  gave  me 
the  best  of  them  all.  You  have  been  a  real  fairy 
godmother  to  me." 

"  Nonsense.  Aren't  you  my  daughter?  "  She 
hugged  the  girl,  choking  a  little,  and  turned  it  off 
with  a  gay,  "Now,  for  Milly's  gift!  Something 
regal,  no  doubt." 

"Milly's?"  Anne  turned  away  to  close  the 
closet.  "  It  has  not  come  yet.  She  will  bring  it, 
I  suppose,  when  she  comes  next  month." 

"Oh?"  Mrs.  Dane's  lips  shut  meaningly,  but 
she  said  nothing.  She  watched  with  an  amused 
smile  as  Anne  folded  her  basques  and  skirts. 
"  When  you  were  so  busy  in  the  club  for  munici 
pal  reform  you  did  not  care  so  much  for  foulards 
and  muslins  ?  "  she  said  slyly. 

"  I  always  liked  pretty  things,"  said  Anne,  pat 
ting  the  flounce  affectionately. 


.  k 


268 


Are  you  going  to  give  up  your  public  work  ?" 
For  the  present — yes.  Oh,  we  have  so  much 
to  do!  "  She  threw  herself  on  the  ground,  leaning 
on  Mrs.  Dane's  knees.  The  motherless  girl  had 
longed  for  some  woman  to  be  glad  with  her. 

"We  are  saving  every  dollar!  I  would  not  go 
upon  a  wedding  journey.  I  made  Brooke  put 
away  the  money  for  the  first  payment  on  the 
mortgage!  And  when  the  farm  is  released  we 
will  add  more  land,  and  more — and  I  will  manage 
that  land  as  never  has  been  done  in  Pennsyl 
vania.  I  am  going  to  study  farming,  thoroughly." 

"  You  ?     And  your  husband  ?" 

"Oh!  "Anne's  eyes  sparkled.  "He  shall  go 
back  to  the  law.  That  is  where  his  heart  always 
has  been.  So  you  see,  with  the  farm  and  the 
house  to  manage,  I  shall  not  have  much  time  for 
public  virtues." 

"  No, "said  Mrs.  Dane,  dryly.     "And  Edward?" 

"  Poor  boy!  "  said  Anne,  with  a  motherly  shake 
of  the  head.  "I  hope  I  can  make  him  happy. 
He  has  a  miserable  life." 

Ned  flung  the  door  open  that  moment  with 
a  face  which  belied  her  words.  It  was  radiant 
with  kindness  and  pleasure.  Brooke  hurried  after 
him,  smiling  and  excited. 

"  This  reckless  fellow,"  he  said  to  Anne,  "  has 
bought  you  a  gift  fit  for  a  princess." 

"I  ran  down  to  Philadelphia,"  said  Ned,  with 
affected  carelessness,  "  to  make  myself  fit  for  the 
wedding.  I  was  literally  in  rags;  and  I  bought 
you  a  trifle — all  that  my  poor  purse  could  afford." 
He  put  a  little  box  in  her  hand. 


26g 


When  it  was  opened  Mrs.  Dane  gave  a  startled 
cry,  and  looked  up  at  him  in  amazement.  It  was 
a  single  emerald,  pure  and  large,  hung  by  an 
invisible  wire  to  a  tiny  gold  chain. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ned,  nodding,  "  Caldwell  had  noth 
ing  better." 

Anne  thanked  him  gravely,  and  turned  it  over 
uneasily. 

"How  could  he  do  it?"  she  asked  Brooke 
bluntly,  when  they  were  alone. 

"  Oh,  he  probably  had  an  order  for  a  picture. 
Don't  fret  him  about  economy.  He  had  the 
money,  or  he  would  not  have  bought  it.  He  has 
the  generosity  of  a  prince." 

Brooke  felt  his  own  economy  bear  hardly  upon 
him  that  night,  when  the  brothers  smoked  their 
pipes  together  for  the  last  time  in  the  old  farm 
house.  "No  wedding  journey!"  cried  Ned 
indignantly,  "  nothing  but  a  week  on  the  Jersey 
coast!  I  never  heard  of  such  niggardliness! 
When  I  marry,  I  shall  take  my  wife  to  Arcadia. 
The  world  will  not  have  breadth  nor  beauty 
enough  to  satisfy  me  for  her." 

"Why,  you  see,  Ned,"  said  Brooke  earnestly, 
"  Anne  is  as  anxious  as  I  that  we  should  own  our 
farm  again."  He  unlocked  his  desk  and  took  out 
an  old  Bible.  "Mother's  book,  you  know?  I 
have  been  saving  these  notes  for  months,  for  our 
little  holiday — eight  hundred.  But  Anne  insisted 
they  should  go  for  the  first  payment.  It  was  her 
fancy  to  put  them  in  this  book,  as  they  are  to  buy 
our  freedom."  He  touched  the  notes  softly,  shut 
the  book,  and  closed  the  desk. 


270 


Ned  nodded.  He  watched  his  brother  furtively 
as  he  went  about  the  room,  his  eyes  shining. 
"I'm  rather  glad  we  are  to  come  back  home  so 
soon,"  Brooke  said  at  last.  "You  see  I  have 
thought  of  it — of  bringing  her  home  here,  since 
I  was  a  boy.  Now  it  really  is  to  be,  I  can  hardly 
believe  it."  He  put  his  hands  on  Ned's  shoul 
ders.  "You  are  a  little  glad  too,  boy?  She 
is  so  anxious  to  make  your  life  happy,  Ned!  " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right!  "  Ned  said  loudly,  throw 
ing  up  his  head.  "I  appreciate  her  at  her  full 
value.  And  you  too,  Brooke.  I  see  what  our  home 
will  be,  quite  clearly.  I'll  do  my  part." 

"I  know  it,  Ned."  Brooke  wrenched  his  hand, 
and  then  with  a  beaming  face  went  up  the  stairs. 

Ned  smoked  in  silence  a  while,  and  then 
knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  on  the  andiron. 
"  So,  so!  "  he  said  half  aloud.  "  Economy  is  to 
be  the  rule  ?  I  don't  think  the  change  of  weather 
in  this  house  will  suit  Edward  Calhoun  !  And 
good  Lord  !  To  see  her  pour  tea  with  those  big 
hands,  every  day — every  day " 

The  brief  honeymoon  was  over.  Brooke  and 
his  wife,  coming  home  again,  left  the  porter  to 
follow  with  their  luggage  from  the  station  and 
walked  slowly  through  the  woods  toward  the  old 
farm-house.  Calhoun  held  her  arm  tightly,  as 
though  she  were  a  baby  learning  to  walk. 

"  Take  care.  There  are  so  many  roots  under 
the  grass,  dear.  There  comes  your  father,  with 
all  the  dogs.  I  suppose  Ned — he  will  have  the 
house  all  lighted,  and  fires  in  every  room.  So 


271 


many  years  I  have  looked  forward  to  this  coming 
home,  Nancy." 

They  walked  on  in  silence.  The  doctor,  coming 
down  the  avenue,  waved  his  cap  jubilantly — being 
too  far  away  to  speak. 

"  I  thought  Ned  would  have  been  at  the 
station,"  said  Brooke  uneasily.  "  The  dear  fellow 
is  busy  with  his  preparations,  no  doubt.  Where 
is  he,  doctor  ?  " 

"Did  you  not  know?  He  went  to  New  York 
the  day  you  left.  He  said  he  had  told  you " 

Brooke  hurried  through  the  lighted  house  to 
Ned's  room.  Upon  the  table  was  a  letter  di 
rected  to  himself. 

"Dear  old  man,  I  need  a  change.  I  shall  run 
over  to  Paris  for  a  few  months  of  hard  work. 
Here  are  some  bills  which  I  wish  you  would  settle 
for  me  at  your  leisure.  I  have  borrowed  a  little 
money  from  you,  but  will  wipe  the  slate  clean 
when  I  sell  my  first  picture.  My  fondest  love  to 
my  charming  sister.  "Yours, 

"NED." 

Beneath  was  a  pile  of  bills,  the  upper  one  from 
Caldwell  &  Co. 

Calhoun  went  to  his  desk  and  opened  it.  The 
Bible  was  in  its  place,  but  there  was  no  money  in  it. 
He  beckoned  to  Anne  and  handed  the  letter  to  her. 

"He  must  not  be  there  alone,"  he  said. 
"  Poor  Ned  !  He  will  be  so  miserable  when  he 
understands  what  he  has  done.  I  will  bring  him 
back  at  any  cost." 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE  Plunketts  did  not  come  home  in  the  fall. 
Milly  fluttered  from  one  capital  of  Europe  to 
another  until  more  than  a  year  had  passed.  She 
cared  nothing  for  their  history  or  associations  or 
social  life:  but  she  studied  pictures  and  statuary 
and  gems  with  breathless  eagerness. 

"  I  want  to  make  a  capable  woman  of  myself," 
she  said  one  day,  when  they  were  in  the  Louvre. 
"  I  want  to  know  the  value  of  things." 

"Why  don't  you  let  me  buy  what's  pretty?" 
said  David.  "I'll  ship  home  an  acre  of  these 
canvasses,  if  you  like,"  waving  his  hand  to  the 
wall  of  the  Salon  Carre. 

"  Hush-h  !  No,"  she  said  gravely.  "I  have 
decided  that  pictures  are  a  bad  investment  unless 
you  buy  the  works  of  some  unknown  artist  of 
merit.  You  are  sure  to  make  on  them.  But  how 
to  know  them  ?  " 

"But  you  don't  let  me  buy  you  any  thing! 
Now,  laces.  That  yellow  veil  they  said  belonged 
to  Josephine  ?  You  look  so  pretty  in  fluffy 
things." 

Milly's  brows  were  knitted  anxiously.  "No. 
I  only  like  the  finest  lace.  And  that  does  not 
gain  in  value.  We  can't  let  so  much  money  lie 
idle  in  a  bit  of  worked  net." 

"Money — idle!"     David  shrugged    his    huge 


273 


shoulders  with  lazy  delight,  as  he  trotted  after 
her.  He  knew  that  it  was  only  her  silly  fond 
ness  for  him  that  made  her  wish  to  save  for  him  ; 
that  made  her  hunt  out  the  value  of  things, 
or  count  up  the  hotel  bills  with  her  red  lips 
pursed.  She  always  seemed  fond  of  him.  He 
had  no  doubt  of  her  now.  He  was  steeped  in 
happiness.  It  had  altered  him.  A  nobler  man 
than  the  old  David  Plunkett  looked  out  of 
his  eyes.  She  was  chary  of  caresses  ;  but  to 
feel  her  cool  little  palms  now  and  then  stroking 
his  flabby  cheeks  he  would  gladly  trot  after  her 
like  a  dog  for  the  rest  of  his  life. 

"  Now,  here  is  the  Regent,"  she  said,  leaning 
over  the  cabinet  with  an  excited  laugh.  "You 
can  buy  that  for  me." 

"  Pardon,  madame,"  interrupted  one  of  the 
guards.  "  It  is  the  great  diamond  of  the  world. 
It  is  a  crown  jewel  of  France,  worth  twenty  mil 
lion  francs." 

Milly  said  nothing,  but  smiled  calmly.  To 
know  that  she  could  pay  twenty  million  of  francs 
for  a  little  stone,  if  she  chose — It  was  worth  hav 
ing  lived  for  the  silent  triumph  of  that  one 
moment. 

"There  is  a  man  yonder,  Milly,"  said  Plunkett 
a  minute  later,  "who  has  been  watching  you  as 
if  he  knew  you.  That  Spaniard  by  the  pillar, 
with  the  red  cravat." 

Milly  glanced  at  the  carefully  dressed,  bearded 
little  man.  He  came  toward  her,  bowing,  hat  in 
hand. 

"I  do  not  know  him.     Oh  !  "  with  a  shrill  cry. 
18 


274 


"  It  is — He  is  not  a  Spaniard.  He  is  a — a 
mulatto.  I  saw  him  at  Le  Reve  des  Eaux." 

David  looked  at  her  and  turned  away  abruptly. 
Soude  or  his  home  had  never  before  been  men 
tioned  between  them. 

Milly  did  not  look  after  him.  She  did  not 
remember  that  he  was  in  the  world.  Now  !  At 
last !  Now  she  would  hear  of  John — what  he 
thought 

"This  is — ?"  Her  voice  sounded  shrill  and 
high  to  her. 

"They  call  me  Monsieur  Farro  here,"  the  little 
man  said,  with  a  set  smile.  "I  hope  madame 
will  pardon  my  intrusion  ?  I  saw  her  on  the  Soude 
plantation  two  years  ago.  I  was  manager  there 
then." 

"  Oh,  I  remember  you  very  well.  You  do  not 
manage  the  plantation  now  ?  " 

"No.  I  live  here.  I  never  shall  go  back  to 
the  States."  But  poor  Farro  was  more  home-sick 
than  he  knew.  The  sight  of  this  woman  brought 
the  old  place  back  to  him.  He  clasped  his  hands 
nervously  and  broke  out  into  the  uncontrollable 
chuckling  ya!  ya!  of  the  negro. 

"  It's  so  surprising  to  see  any  body  from  home, 
ma'am,"  he  said  apologetically,  putting  his  hand 
over  his  mouth.  "  I  had  got  through  my  work 
there.  Just  after  you  left  a  Northern  company 
bought  the  marshes  from  the  General,  to  drain  for 
rice-lands.  The  price  they  paid  cleared  off  his 
debt — a  debt  that  was  on  the  plantation " 

"Yes,  I  know  there  was  a  lien,"  said  Milly. 
"And  then ?" 


275 


"  Then  my  work  was  over.  General  Soude 
paid  me  a  handsome  sum  as  soon  as  he  got  the 
money.  I  wanted  to  leave  the  Soudes.  There 
were  reasons  for  that.  And  I  wanted,"  he  said, 
throwing  up  his  head,  "  to  bring  my  children  to  a 
free  country  where  their  black  blood  wouldn't  tell 
against  them.  And  why  should  it  tell  against 
them,  ma'am  ?  "  he  cried  fiercely.  "  There's  some 
of  the  best  blood  of  Louisiana  in  their  veins,  I  can 
tell  you  that.  Nobody  minds  their  color  here.  I 
take  my  boy— the  black  one— to  the  theatre,  to 
church.  Nobody  stares,  nobody  says  'Damned 
nigger! '  It's  not  that  way  anywhere  in  the  States. " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Plunkett,  wiping  her  dry 
lips  with  her  tongue.  "That's  very  pleasant! 
I'm  very  glad,  I'm  sure. "  What  was  the  wretched 
negro  or  his  race  to  her  ? 

Suddenly  recollecting  David,  she  glanced  down 
the  corridor  and  saw  him  standing  in  one  of  the 
great  windows,  watching  her,  blotting  out  the 
light.  He  might  come  back  at  any  moment  and 
then — she  would  never  know! 

"Mr.    John  Soude.      Is  he— well?  "    she  said. 

A  keen  flash  of  intelligence  lighted  Farro's 
insignificant  features.  He  smiled,  hesitating  to 
find  words  strong  enough. 

"Oh,  very  well!  Never  better.  The  lien's 
cleared  off.  The  General  and  M's  John's  as 
happy  as  two  boys.  They  have  repaired  the  old 
house.  It's  the  gathering  place  for  the  whole 
parish— full  and  plenty  as  in  the  old  times— Lord! 
if  I  was  there  now!  " — shaking  his  head. 

Then  the  lien,  she  calculated,  must  have  been 


276 


paid  off  about  the  time  she  eloped  with  David. 
If  she  had  but  waited  a  few  days  John  would  have 
come  to  her  with  the  good  news.  And  that  little 
cushion  she  was  making  for  him — she  could  never 
force  herself  to  touch  a  needle  since — He  was 
coming  to  her  with  the  good  news. 

She  put  out  her  hands  feebly. 

"He — he  lives  at  home  now  ?  Not  in  a  little 
house  on  Camp  Street  ? " 

"  Oh,  of  course  he  lives  at  home!  Didn't  yo^u 
hear  ? "  laughing  significantly.  "  Mr.  Louis 
Choteaud,  you  see,  he  was  wraitin'  on  Miss 
Soude.  M's  John  comes  home  an'  hears  it. 
He'd  been  used  to  thinking  of  Miss  Therese  all 
his  life,  but  he'd  never  thought  of  Miss  Therese's 
husband.  That  opened  his  senses  to  what  he 
wanted,  I  suppose.  So  one  morning  they  were 
married,  quite  suddenly.  And  a  dear  wife  and 
lady  she  is  to  him!"  Farro  said,  fixing  his  eyes 
mercilessly  on  the  little  bloodless  face  before 
him.  "  He  watches  over  her  as  if  she  were  a 
leetle,  tender  child " 

"Yes,"  said  Milly,  holding  herself  erect  with 
a  laugh.  "  She  needs  especial  care.  She  is 
a  cripple,  if  I  remember  rightly.  Well,  good- 
morning,  Mr.  Farro.  So  pleased  to  have  seen 
you!  I  wish  you  success  in  Paris." 

She  stepped  lightly  to  the  window  and  laid  her 
hand  on  David's  arm,  smiling  up  into  his  face. 
He  looked  at  her  sharply.  She  had  been  talking 
to  that  fellow  of  her  old  lover,  and  yet  she  never 
had  looked  at  him  so  fondly!  Soude  was  nothing 
to  her,  thank  God! 


277 


They  left  the  Louvre  and  drove  out  to  the 
Bois.  Milly  slept  most  of  the  time.  Her  white, 
exhausted  face  against  the  cushions  made  David's 
heart  ache.  He  bade  the  coachman  drive  slowly 
down  a  lonely  road,  and  watched  her,  shading 
her  closed  eyes  from  the  flickering  lights,  think 
ing  that  he  was  secure  at  last.  She  was  his;  she 
never  had  cared  for  Soude.  But  how  ghastly 
she  looked!  He  knew  the  reason.  God  was 
giving  him  every  thing:  first,  the  woman  who  had 
always  been  dear  to  him,  and  now 

As  they  passed  slowly  down  the  forest  aisle 
David  prayed  with  his  whole  soul  to  God  to  care 
for  her  and  the  child  that  she  was  to  bear  to  him. 
In  the  midst  of  his  prayers  he  would  stop  and 
almost  shout  aloud. 

To  think  that  he — Dave  Plunkett — should  have 
a  son  of  his  own! 

He  winked  his  eyes  to  get  rid  of  the  tears. 
He  must  make  a  different  man  of  himself — he 
had  begun  already!  The  little  fellow  must  learn 
no  harm  from  his  own  father!  David  had  given 
up  his  brandy  smashes  and  had  'not  sworn  now 
for  weeks.  He  nodded  over  Rawlinson's  "Ancient 
Monarchies  "  every  night.  He  would  like  the  boy 
to  think  his  father  was  a  scholar,  and  he  had 
so  much  to  learn!  He  meant  to  begin  at  the 
beginning. 

When  they  reached  their  hotel  he  insisted  on 
carrying  her  up  the  stairs,  and  laid  her  on  the 
sofa.  She  was  very  quiet  for  a  long  time;  he 
thought  she  was  asleep,  but  at  last  she  cried  out 
sharply: 


278 


"  For  pity's  sake  don't  go  tip-toeing  about  in 
that  ridiculous  fashion,  like  an  elephant  on  eggs! 
Can't  you  talk  ?  What  shall  we  buy  ?  Let  us 
settle  on  something."  She  sat  up,  throwing  off 
the  cloak  with  which  he  had  covered  her,  her  eyes 
burning,  the  blood  flaming  in  her  cheeks.  "  You've 
dallied  long  enough  about  investing  for  me." 

"Dallied?  Why,  there's  nothing  I  haven't 
wanted  to  buy  for  you!  " 

"  Oh,  yes!  finery,  bric-a-brac — just  wasting 
money!  But  something  real  that  I  can  hold  and 
feel.  Let  me  have  some  good  of  the  money." 

"  Yes,  yes,  dear!  "  There  was  a  little  table  in 
front  of  her  and  David  sat  down  before  it,  watch 
ing  her  with  an  alarmed  smile,  as  an  anxious  nurse 
might  a  sick  baby.  The  doctors  had  prepared 
him  for  fretfulness  and  foolish  whims. 

"I  have  been  thinking,"  she  cried,  "and  I've 
decided  that  I'll  have  some  money  put  into 
diamonds.  A  large  sum.  I  am  fond  of  jewels, 
but  that  is  not  the  reason.  Money  is  safe  in 
diamonds.  You  lose  the  interest,  but  the  prin 
cipal  is  safe,  which  is  an  object  this  fall,  when 
securities  are  so  uncertain." 

"Yes,  certainly."  Plunkett  nodded,  with  an 
amused  smile. 

"  I  want  them  to-day!  "  She  opened  and  shut 
her  hands  as  they  lay  on  the  table.  "  I  want  to 
know  that  I  actually  have  them  here — I  have  lost 
so  much!  I  must  have  something!" 

"You  have  me,  dear." 

She  stared  into  the  big,  smiling  face  before  her 
without  a  word. 


279 


David  looked  at  his  watch.  "  You  want  them 
to-day,  eh?  It's  late,  Milly.  The  diamond 
brokers  have  closed.  And  I'm  sorry,  but — Don't 
you  think  it  is  risky  to  buy  stones  after  dark  ? " 

"Oh,  I  know  just  what  I  mean  to  buy.  And 
they  will  open  their  shops  fast  enough  for  a  man 
who  comes  with  a  hundred  millions  in  his 
pocket!  " 

David  laughed.  "  Don't  repeat  that  foolish 
ness,  Milly.  People  might  think  you  really 
believed  it." 

She  half  rose.  "  Foolishness  ?  Do  you  mean 
that  it — is  not  true  ?  " 

"That  I  am  worth  a  hundred  millions!  Why, 
of  course  not.  Nor  the  half  of  it.  Nor  the 
quarter." 

She  stood  looking  at  him  steadily,  but  all  the 
meaning  had  gone  from  her  shallow,  light  eyes. 
After  along  time  she  said,  "Will  you  tell  me 
what  you  are  worth?" 

"  I  ?  I'm  not  one  of  the  four  richest  men  in 
the  States;  you  surely  never  believed  that  non 
sense,  dear?  I  really  don't  know  exactly.  I 
have  a  shrewd  partner,  and  my  being  on  this  side 
has  enabled  us  to  work  together  effectively. 
But  we  lost  heavily  lately.  In  western  bonds,  and 

oil  is But  surely  you  don't  care  to  hear 

these  things,  child  ?" 

"  What  are  you  worth  ?  " 

"  Well,  at  a  rough  guess,  eight  or  ten  millions. 
The  little  lad  won't  be  a  pauper,  Milly!"  He 
laid  his  hand  softly  on  her  arm.  She  shook  it 
off. 


280 


"  The  little  lad  ? "  she  muttered,  with  a  shiver. 
She  dropped  into  her  seat,  her  lips  moved. 
"Eight  or  ten,"  she  said  mechanically  to  herself, 
under  her  breath.  "Eight  or  ten." 

She  had  had  many  hurts  to-day.  Her  brain 
was  dulled  by  them.  She  saw  no  difference 
between  this  sum  and  beggary.  For  a  year  she 
had  believed  that  she  held  one  of  the  t\vo  or 
three  vast  fortunes  of  the  world  in  her  hands. 
They  were  suddenly  empty. 

"  What  is  it,  Milly  ?     Are  you  ill  ?  " 

She  only  stared  at  him.  Her  soul  blazed  into  a 
fury  of  hate.  He  had  tricked  her.  He  had  bought 
her  with  a  hundred  millions  when  he  only  had 
these  petty  sums.  She  would  have  shrieked  out 
that  he  was  a  liar  and  a  fraud,  if  she  had  been 
any  other  woman.  But  Milly's  life-long  habit  of 
reticence  stood  her  in  good  stead  in  this  crisis. 

She  must  use  him — and  the  money  he  had — to 
make  more. 

"  What  can  I  do?"  cried  David,  hanging  over 
her.  "  Do  you  want  to  go  into  the  fresh  air  ? 
Shall  we  go  for  the  diamonds  ?" 

"No,  no!  No  diamonds  now.  I  must  begin 
to  work,  to — to  speculate.  I'll  go  to  bed  now. 
I  am  not  well." 

She  pushed  him  back  and  tottered  into  the 
chamber.  David  hurried  away  to  see  the  doctor. 
He  was  alarmed;  yet  he  smiled  to  himself  ten 
derly.  He  had  been  warned  that  these  foolish 
whims  would  come  and  go. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

A  FEW  days,  however,  convinced  Plunkett  that 
his  wife  was  influenced  by  no  whim,  but  by  a  fixed 
purpose.  She  explained  it  to  him  one  morning 
when  a  heap  of  newspapers,  French,  German,  and 
English,  were  brought  to  her.  "  I  am  studying 
the  markets.  You  have  much  less  money  than  I 
thought,  and  I  intend  to  help  you  in  increasing 
that  little.  You  will  find  that  I  can  be  of  use  to 
you." 

"  Yes,  Milly,"  he  said  meekly.  It  was  a  pity 
that  the  morbid  fancies  which  he  had  been  told 
to  expect  had  taken  so  troublesome  a  shape. 
But  that  was  a  small  matter.  His  patience  was 
untiring. 

She  no  longer  studied  the  value  of  pictures  or 
stones,  but  of  stocks;  dragging  him  to  Brussels, 
to  Antwerp,  to  London — wherever  she  scented  a 
good  investment — plying  him  with  a  thousand 
silly  questions  which  she  thought  profound  and 
shrewd. 

"He  always  was  shallow,"  she  told  herself. 
"  I  have  the  brain  of  the  partnership.  But  I 
must  learn  how  to  use  it."  She  usually  decided 
upon  the  most  risky  investment,  which  promised 
huge  profits.  "We  must  make  haste,"  she  would 
tell  him,  "  even  if  we  venture  a  little.  We  have 
so  much  to  make  up."  She  had  set  her  limit  at 


282 


the  hundred  millions  which  she  now  believed  she 
had  once  carried  and  had  lost.  "  Let  me  get 
that,  and  I  will  stop  and  attend  to  other  things," 
she  said  every  day. 

David  humored  her,  when  small  sums  were 
involved;  but  when  the  risk  was  too  great  he 
probably  lied  to  her. 

She  thought  of  nothing  but  investments;  even 
the  little  preparations  for  her  baby  which  she  had 
begun  to  make  with  a  shy  delight  were  all  for 
gotten. 

One  day  David  stopped  with  her  before  a  house 
where  layettes  were  sold.  The  window  was  full 
of  tiny  snowy  garments.  "  Milly,"  he  said  shyly, 
"  won't  you  go  in  and  buy  something  ?  We  have 
nothing  ready  for  him." 

"  Oh,  nonsense!  There  is  time  enough.  I 
have  too  much  else  to  do  to-day." 

Plunkett  was  credited  with  a  vast  fortune  wher 
ever  they  went.  The  better  class  of  Americans 
avoided  him,  and  told  each  other  anecdotes  of 
the  Man-mountain,  his  ignorance,  his  brutal  ill 
temper,  his  enormous  appetite.  He  was  the 
typical  vulgar  nouveau  riche,  and  they  were 
heartily  ashamed  of  him.  Hence  David  found 
himself  lonely  in  the  days  which  dragged  slowly 
on  to  Christmas.  Milly  refused  to  go  home. 

"  Here  is  the  place  to  watch  the  markets  of  the 
world.  In  Paris  you  are  in  the  center,  in  New 
York  in  a  suburb,"  she  said  so  sharply  that  David 
dared  not  tell  her  his  anxiety  that  their  child 
should  be  an  American. 

"She  forgets,"  he  thought,  with  an  aggrieved 


283 


frown,  "that  he  never  will  have  a  chance  at  the 
White  House  if  he  is  born  over  here." 

Milly  had  gathered  up  some  text-books  on 
finance  and  studied  them  incessantly.  Plunkett 
laughed  to  himself  at  them.  He  would  have 
been  glad  to  read  them  aloud  as  a  pretext  to 
be  near  her,  but  she  drove  him  away.  When 
the  time  which  he  regularly  gave  to  his  busi 
ness  every  day  was  over  he  spent  many  soli 
tary  hours  prowling  in  Old  Paris,  on  the  Bois,  in 
the  cafes,  but  everywhere  there  went  with  him  the 
thought  of  this  intangible  holy  thing,  the  mystery 
of  this  new  life  coming  into  the  world. 

The  scholar  that  he  might  have  been,  the  great 
poet,  the  gentle,  well-bred  man  which  he  knew 
he  never  could  be — that  was  the  little  lad! 

One  fear  beset  him  day  and  night.  Milly  per 
haps  did  not  know  that  she  could  influence  that 
child  now  in  body  and  mind.  She  never  had 
heard  that,  or  she  could  not  be  so  indifferent,  so 
engrossed  in  trifles  that  counted  for  nothing. 

David  stood  one  day  beside  her,  staring  out  of 
the  window.  His  soul  was  torn  within  him.  God 
was  sending  him  this  child,  and  nothing  was 
being  done  for  it.  He  clenched  his  hands 
helplessly. 

"  If  /  could  make  it  a  stronger  or  a  better  man. 
I'd  be  on  my  knees  half  the  day  !  "  he  thought, 
"Mildred,"  he  said  at  last,  "would  you  like  to 
go  this  morning  to  look  at  some  of  those  wondei- 
ful  statues,  or  to  hear  some  great  music?  If  you 
would  listen  to  fine  music  every  day,  and  let  me 
read  to  you  in  the  Bible,  they  say — I've  been  told 


234 


— such  things  will  have  an  effect  upon  his  body 
and  soul,  for  all  of  his  life." 

"  What  absurdity  !  "  she  said  sharply.  "  Don't 
worry  me  with  talk  about  '  him  '  any  more  !  it's 
not  modest." 

What  he  could  do  for  her  he  did.  He  leased  a 
house  near  Paris  which  he  fancied  was  like  The 
Oaks.  He  filled  it  with  American  furniture,  he 
imported  a  trained  nurse  from  New  York,  he  called 
in  English-speaking  physicians.  One  of  them,  an 
old  man  with  a  shrewd,  kindly  face,  took  him  aside 
one  day,  and  told  him  that  it  was  his  duty  to  warn 
him  that  madame  was  in  a  peculiar  state  of  high 
nervous  tension. 

"You  think  it  will  be  prejudicial  in  the  future? 
To  the  mother  or  the  child  ? " 

"  To  both,  monsieur.  Humor  her.  Give  her 
her  way  !  You  cannot  turn  her  out  of  it  !  " 

"Oh,  I  do,"  said  poor  Plunkett.  The  physi 
cian  talked  with  him  for  some  time,  and  it  was 
noticeable  afterward  that  Doctor  Jacot  treated  the 
loutish  fellow,  at  whom  every-body  jeered,  with 
marked  respect. 

By  this  time  Mildred  had  found  that  there  were 
many  women  in  Paris,  who,  like  herself,  were 
stock  gamblers — Russian  princesses,  American 
adventurers,  British  matrons,  some  of  them 
wrinkled  and  senile,  some  young  and  pretty,  most 
of  them  declassed.  They  and  the  brokers,  their 
comrades,  soon  gathered  about  the  ignorant  wife 
of  the  great  Yankee  millionnaire,  like  buzzards 
around  fat  prey.  Every  day  some  secret  was 
whispered  to  her,  by  which  success  was  to  be  made 


285 


sure.  Milly  complacently  sat  in  judgment  upon 
the  schemes,  hugging  herself  in  delight  at  the 
shrewdness  with  which  she  decided  this  one  to 
be  a  fraud  and  that  honest. 

At  last,  a  certain  Rhysfontein  Syndicate  for 
gold  mining  in  South  Africa  commended  itself 
to  her.  She  was  to  be  let  in  on  the  ground 
floor;  the  operation  would  pay  in  a  month  two 
hundred  per  cent.,  etc.,  etc.  While  she  deliber 
ated  the  stock  suddenly  rose;  then  she  threw  her 
self  into  the  speculation,  overhead.  She  sold  all 
of  her  other  securities  to  invest  in  it.  M.  Campan, 
the  agent,  a  finical  petit  maitre  of  a  Polish  Jew, 
was  running  incessantly  in  and  out  of  the  hotel  or 
whispering  with  her  in  corners.  Milly's  laugh  rang 
out  gayly,  her  blue  eyes  sparkled  with  triumph. 

David  asked  no  questions.  He  scarcely  seemed 
to  see  the  unsavory  crowd  that  buzzed  about  his 
wife.  But  there  was  something  in  his  look  now, 
as  he  watched  her,  which  affrighted  her.  What 
did  he  know  ?  What  did  he  see  which  she  could 
not  see  ? 

But  she  asked  no  questions,  and  he  dared  not 
speak.  Day  by  day  he  knew  that  she  was  coming 
closer  to  the  frail  bridge  stretched  across  that 
dark  abyss;  and  she  went  capering  and  dancing 
like  a  juggler,  playing  with  toys! 

Sometimes  he  made  a  feeble  effort.  "Milly," 
he  said  one  day,  "there  were  some  things  you 
once  had  very  much  at  heart  which  are  yet  un 
done.  You  told  me  you  would  like  to  settle  a 
certain  sum  on  your  father,  to  make  his  old  age 
secure.  Why  not  do  it  now  ?  To-day  ?  " 


286 


Her  face  sharpened  and  grew  hard.  "  I  see  no 
necessity  of  giving  any  money  to  papa.  He  lives 
very  simply.  Anne  is  married  comfortably,  and 
will  see  that  he  needs  nothing.  Besides,  I  did 
send  him  a  large  sum  of  money,  just  after  we 
were  married." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  then! "  said  Plunkett, 
smiling  tenderly  down  at  her.  She  did  not  tell 
him  that  she  had  recalled  the  five  thousand  dollars 
a  week  ago  to  invest  in  Rhysfontein. 

The  next  day  was  Sunday.  He  hung  about  the 
room  awkwardly.  "Milly,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  suppose  we  go  to  church?  You  never  go  now. 
What  do  you  say  ?  " 

She  looked  up.  "I  never  knew  you  to  go  to 
church  in  your  life.  Why  this  sudden  attack  of 
devotion  ? " 

"No,  I  didn't."  Plunkett  stopped  shuffling, 
and  stood  quite  still.  "I've  been  a  godless 
fellow,  I  know.  But  I've  thought  of  things 
lately — I'd  like  to  go  with  you,  Milly,  so  that  we 
could  kneel  together  once  and  pray  for  you, 
and — the  child." 

"Oh,  certainly,"  Mildred  said  civilly.  "I'll 
put  on  my  things.  You'll  hear  a  very  poor 
sermon,  though,  and  the  choir  is  wretched." 

The  chapel  happened  to  be  crowded  that  morn 
ing.  Milly  stepped  alertly  to  a  single  seat,  leav 
ing  David  to  find  a  place  in  the  back  pews. 

"I  wish  I  could  have  knelt  by  her,  once,"  he 
thought  as  he  sat  down.  The  people  near  him 
noticed  the  huge  man,  who  during  the  service 
neither  stood  nor  knelt  with  the  others,  but 


287 


sat  motionless,  his  head  bent  forward  on  his 
cane. 

But  Milly  did  pray.  While  she  joined  in  the 
Creed  and  Te  Deum  quite  correctly,  she  was  count 
ing  what  her  profits  would  be  if  the  investment 
paid  even  a  hundred  per  month  ?  Why,  in  two 
years  she  could  talk  of  her  millions — her  own 
millions.  To-morrow  Campan  had  promised  a 
decisive  cablegram  from  the  diggings. 

It  flashed  upon  her. — What  if  there  was  a  real 
Something  to  whom  these  prayers  actually  were 
going — who  could  control  things  as  He  chose  ? 
Even  the  market. 

She  was  on  her  knees  at  the  moment.  She 
dropped  her  head,  and  her  little  frame  shook 
with  the  frenzy  of  her  entreaty. 

"  Lord,  send  me  good  luck!  "  she  cried.  "  Give 
us  a  hundred  per  cent. !  " 

Then  she  suddenly  remembered  what  David 
had  said  about  the  child,  and  a  gush  of  warm 
womanly  feeling  sent  the  water  to  her  eyes.  "  I 
wonder  what  mother  would  think  if  she  knew  I 
had  a  baby  ? "  she  thought,  smiling  softly.  She 
did  not  move  for  a  long  time. 

Every-body  was  going  out.  She  got  up.  "  I'll 
have  time  to  think  of  these  things  after  the  cable 
gram  comes,"  she  said  to  herself. 

M.  Campan  brought  no  cablegram  on  Monday 
nor  on  Tuesday.  Milly  neither  slept  nor  tasted 
food.  Sometimes,  in  the  agony  of  suspense,  she 
was  tempted  to  tell  David  her  secret.  But  no, 
her  triumph  would  be  the  greater  when  it  came. 

On  Wednesday,  Doctor  Jacot  found  her  pacing 


288 


steadily  up  and  down  the  salon.  He  laid  his 
hand  on  hers,  a  grave  alarm  in  his  face. 

"She  will  not  stop,  nor  sit  down.  I  can  do 
nothing  with  her,"  said  David. 

A  maid  came  in  at  that  moment  with  the  morn 
ing's  paper.  Mildred  took  it  from  her  and  tried 
to  open  it.  Her  hands  shook,  and  her  teeth 
chattered. 

"  But,  madame!  "  said  the  doctor,  gently  draw 
ing  it  from  her;  "let  us  not  concern  our 
selves  with  affairs.  Let  us  look  to  our  health 
now." 

"One  moment,  doctor,"  said  Milly  courteously, 
a  smile  on  her  bloodless  face.  "This  is  of 
interest  to  me." 

She  shook  open  the  sheet.  In  bold  head-lines 
were  the  words: 

"  Rhysfontein.  A  certain  tricky  fellow,  passing 
under  the  name  of  M.  Felix  Campan,  has,  it 
appears,  beguiled  large  sums  from  many  ignorant 
dupes,  as  agent  for  the  above-named  stock,  and 
has  absconded  with  them.  On  inquiry,  yester 
day,  the  company  proved  to  be  a  fiction,  and 
Campan  is  suspected  to  be  a  professional  swin 
dler,  well  known  to  the  police  of  Berlin." 

Milly  turned  her  bright  eyes  on  the  doctor. 
"He  has  taken  my  money,"  she  said  gently. 
"  My  money,"  and  then,  with  a  shrill  scream,  she 
sank  down  in  a  heap  upon  the  floor. 

They  carried  her  to  her  room.  The  physicians 
came  and  went  all  day. 


28g 


Late  that  evening  David  Plunkett  sat  alone  in 
the  unlighted  salon.  He  had  been  waiting  there 
alone  many  hours.  The  door  of  the  chamber 
opened  at  last. 

He  stood  up.  Now  he  would  know  what  the 
rest  of  his  life  was  to  be. 

Doctor  Jacot  stood  in  the  lighted  space, 
beckoning  to  him.  When  David  came  up,  he 
took  his  big  hand  in  both  of  his  and  led  him  into 
the  chamber. 

"  It  is  the  worst,  my  friend,"  he  said.  "  Be  a 
man " 

Upon  the  bed  lay  a  motionless  little  figure, 
scarce  larger  than  a  child's,  covered  with  a  white 
sheet. 

The  doctor  turned  away  when  David  went 
to  it. 

Presently  the  nurse  wiped  the  tears  from 
her  own  eyes,  and  lifting  a  little  bundle  of 
flannel  from  her  knee,  looked  enquiringly  at  the 
physician. 

"Yes.     Take  it  to  him,"  he  whispered. 

She  carried  it  to  David.  "It  is  your  son,  sir," 
she  said,  and  put  it  in  his  arms. 

David  stood  a  long  time  holding  it  close.  He 
stooped  at  last  and  kissed  the  child  reverently, 
muttering  something  which  ended  with: 

"So  help  me,  God!" 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

IN  the  winter  of  1890,  the  anniversary  of  Jack 
son's  long-ago  victory  was  made  the  excuse  for  a 
national  caucus  in  Philadelphia  of  the  Democratic 
party.  All  of  its  leaders  and  second  and  third- 
rate  bosses  hied  to  this  informal /<?#/--/#  r/^r,  and 
with  them  every  possible  and  impossible  candidate 
for  the  Presidency.  Each  man  came  prepared 
with  a  speech  on  the  Hero  of  New  Orleans,  in 
which  were  carefully  set  forth  his  own  opinions 
on  the  tariff,  free  silver,  and  pensions. 

The  convention  met  in  the  Academy  of  Music, 
and  for  that  night  the  huge,  dingy  building  glowed 
with  color  and  patriotism.  The  floor  was  occu 
pied  by  the  delegates ;  the  galleries  were  crowded 
with  the  curious  public;  but  the  tiers  of  boxes 
were  reserved  for  the  wives  of  the  great  party 
chiefs.  They  had  been  instructed  as  to  the  impor 
tance  of  the  ponderous  deliverances  to  which 
they  listened,  and  knew  that  the  platform  for  the 
party  during  the  coming  campaign  was  being 
published  in  them,  and  that  as  they  were  spoken 
they  were  flashed  by  wire  across  the  whole  conti 
nent,  so  that  obedient  Democrats  in  Maine  or 
San  Francisco  should  know  by  breakfast  time 
to-morrow  what  they  had  to  do. 

So  the  women  clapped  their  gloved  hands  softly 
as  each  speech  was  finished,  and  declared  eagerly 


that  it  was  "a  masterly  effort,"  and  yawned 
behind  their  fans  when  another  man  got  up,  and 
whispered  sharp  little  criticisms  of  him  to  each 
other. 

Two  hours  of  these  weighty  utterances  had 
reduced  even  the  bosses  to  the  bored  condition 
of  the  women  when  a  tall,  dark  man,  a  Southern 
delegate,  rose  to  speak.  He  had  been  a  rebel 
soldier;  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  faced  his 
party  in  the  North.  He  had  something  to  say  to 
them,  and  he  said  it.  His  voice  had  a  cordial, 
honest  ring  in  it.  Before  he  began  his  second 
sentence  the  eyes  of  every  delegate  were  on  him: 
as  he  went  on  the  boys  in  the  lofts  called 
"  Hush-h,"  to  each  other,  and  the  women  dropped 
their  fans  and  leaned  forward,  motionless. 

Anne  Calhoun,  who  was  one  of  them,  was  the 
most  startled  and  moved  among  them.  She  had 
known  John  Soude  in  his  youth  and  thought  him 
slow  and  dull.  Was  it  out  of  such  material  that 
a  great  orator  was  made  ?  Did  eloquence  only 
mean  to  have  something  to  say  and  to  say  it, 
direct,  to  each  man  in  hearing? 

Soude  had  once  had  a  fight  to  the  death  with 
these  people.  Now  was  his  one  chance  to  justify 
his  side  in  the  fight  and  then  to  strike  hands  with 
his  foes.  His  heart  rushed  to  his  lips  in  every 
word.  Many  men  who  listened  to  him  had  never 
seen  a  conquered  rebel  face  to  face  before. 
When  he  ended,  there  was  a  thunder  of  applause. 
Nobody  had  remembered  exactly  what  he  had 
said  in  his  homely,  downright  talk,  but  they  all 
wanted  to  go  over  and  shake  hands  with  him 


2Q2 


and  then  turn  in  honestly  to  work  to  help  the 
country. 

Anne's  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  she  listened. 
She  leaned  back,  drawing  a  long  breath  when  he 
sat  down. 

"I  never  heard  any  thing  like  that !"  she  said 
to  his  wife. 

Therese  smiled.  "  All  the  men  of  our  family 
have  been  like  Aaron;  they  could  <  speak  well,"1 
she  said  calmly. 

"  Mr.  Soude  always  had  a  curious  power  of 
clutching  at  one's  heart,"  Anne  went  on  excitedly. 
"  I  remember  a  little  story  of  a  child  dying  in  a 
train " 

"Pathos  would  be  of  small  use  in  a  politician," 
said  Mrs.  Soude  coldly.  "My  husband  is  one  of 
the  closest  logicians  in  the  country." 

"Oh?"  ejaculated  Anne.  She  scanned  her 
old  friend  curiously.  Therese  had  altered  in  the 
years  during  which  she  and  her  husband  had  been 
political  and  social  powers  in  Washington.  The 
little  grande  dame  was  used  to  the  public  eye  and 
bore  herself  with  an  unconscious  dignity  and 
repose.  It  mattered  nothing  to  her  that  a  dozen 
reporters  were  sketching  her  face  now  for  the 
morning  papers.  She  had  not  looked  once  at 
John  while  he  spoke,  but  Anne  had  noticed  a 
small  scarlet  point  grow  hot  and  hotter  in  each 
cheek  as  he  went  on:  her  lips  moved,  too,  repeat 
ing  his  sentences:  often,  as  Anne  saw  with 
amusement,  hurrying  in  advance  of  him. 

"You  have  heard  the  speech  before?"  she 
said  now. 


293 


"  Certainly.  I  know  it  by  heart.  Mr.  Soude 
is  a  brilliant  extemporaneous  speaker,  as  I  sup 
pose  you  know.  But  this  is  a  crisis,  and  he 
represents  his  section.  It  would  not  do  to  risk 
chance  ideas."  She  asked  presently,  "  Does  not 
Mr.  Calhoun  speak  to-night  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Anne.  "Brooke  is  no  orator.  He 
does  not  even  plead  in  court;  he  has  altogether 
a  chamber  practice."  She  went  on  with  a  certain 
doggedness  in  her  tone:  "  He  is  of  some  weight 
in  the  party,  I  believe,  but  only  concerns  him 
self  in  public  affairs  from  duty.  He  has  no 
ambitions — he  is  no  politician." 

"A  statesman,  rather,"  said  the  politician's 
wife  gently.  She  sent  for  a  messenger  and 
scribbled  a  despatch,  smiling  to  herself  as  she 
wrote.  "It  is  to  the  General,"  she  explained, 
when  she  had  finished.  "  Nothing  would  induce 
him  to  leave  the  plantation  or  our  little  girl,  so 
I  wire  him  every  night  a  full  account  of  the  day." 

The  convention  had  adjourned,  but  the  two 
women  sat  tranquilly  in  the  box,  watching  the 
enthusiastic  delegates  crowding  about  John  Soude 
on  the  stage.  He  stood  erect,  flushed  and  hand 
some,  making  hosts  of  friends  with  every  hearty 
word. 

"  He  is  the  king  of  the  hour,"  Anne  said  cor 
dially,  laughing.  But  her  eyes  turned  to  the 
stout  little  man  who  quietly  presented  the  others 
to  him.  * '  In  the  background  always,"  she  thought. 
"The  man  with  the  best  brain  and  the  biggest 
heart  in  the  house!  "  and  then,  as  she  fastened  her 
cloak,  she  told  herself,  as  she  had  told  herself  a 


294 


thousand  times  before,  that  he  was  right.  No 
ambitions,  a  little  farm  well  tilled,  a  chamber 
practice,  and  the  background  of  an  honest,  true 
life,  were  the  highest  wisdom  after  all. 

"Who  is  that  immense,  ungainly  man  by  the 
pillar  ?"  asked  Therese.  "I  think  he  bowed  to 
you." 

"It  is  my  brother-in-law,  Mr.  Plunkett." 
Anne  beckoned  to  him  to  come  up  to  the  box. 

The  night  had  tried  Plunkett  sorely.  He  was 
an  eager,  intelligent  Democrat.  He  did  not  ap 
prove  of  one  plank  of  the  platform  just  laid  down. 
Even  Mr.  Cleveland,  he  thought,  had  made  a  mis 
take  in  his  speech.  He  wanted  to  tell  the  con 
vention  that  they  were  on  the  brink  of  a  fatal 
error.  His  ideas  were  quite  clear,  and  he  knew 
that  his  position  as  a  great  capitalist  would  give 
them  weight;  but  he  could  not  speak  two  sen 
tences  of  grammatical  English.  Twice  he  rose 
and  dropped  into  his  seat  again,  the  cold  sweat 
breaking  over  him. 

"  I'll  not  get  up  and  talk  like  an  ass,  and  shame 
Boy!"  he  thought.  "If  I'd  chosen  to  take  an 
education  I  might  have  been  the  equal  of  any 
man  here." 

He  stood  a  while,  scowling  and  glum.  Suddenly 
his  face  lighted  and  he  whistled  softly  to  himself. 
Just  then  Anne  beckoned  to  him,  and  he  hurried 
to  the  box.  After  he  had  bowed  to  Mrs.  Soude, 
he  drew  Anne  aside. 

"Gosh,  Anne!  D'ye  know  I  nearly  made  a 
doggoned  fool  of  myself.  I  got  up  to  make  a 
speech  !  No,  I  didn't  do  it.  I  know  my  place. 


295 


When  education's  needed,  I've  got  to  take  the 
back  pew;  but  I  was  just  thinking,  what  an 
orator  Boy  will  be!  He's  got  the  voice  for  it, 
eh  ?  And  the  presence,  and  the  brain — we  all 
know  what  Harry's  brain  is.  He  shall  go  at  elo 
cution  right  away."  He  stood  silent,  looking  at 
the  crowds  below,  whistling  to  himself. 

''Lord,  Nancy!"  he  said,  with  a  chuckle, 
"you  and  I  may  sit  in  this  box  some  day  and 
hear  Harry  speaking  on  the  floor  yonder.  Why 
not  ?  He's  sixteen.  In  ten  years — the  party 
needs  just  such  a  man  to  lead  it.  There  !  he's 
beckonin'  for  me  in  the  foyer  to  go  home.  He's 
trainin',  you  see,  an'  he  makes  me  eat  an'  drink 
an'  be  rubbed  down  an'  go  to  bed  an'  get  up 
along  with  him.  He  says  I'll  '  enjoy  the  sports 
more  when  they  come  off.'  I've  got  to  go — good 
night,"  and  he  lumbered  away,  laughing  to  himself. 

The  next  morning  a  committee  carried  John 
Soude  away  to  speak  at  Harrisburg,  and  Therese 
went  to  Luxborough  with  the  Calhouns.  She  was 
enchanted  with  the  picturesque  hill  farm  and  the 
old  house  with  its  low  ceilings  and  great  fire 
places.  Brooke  drove  them  in  the  afternoon  to 
the  dairies,  and  Anne  gave  a  little  lecture  on  the 
different  grades  of  milk. 

Therese  laughed  merrily.  "  Are  you  invent 
ing  all  that  ?  Uo  you  really  know  so  much  ? " 
she  cried. 

"Certainly;  it's  my  business.  I  am  the 
farmer,"  said  Anne. 

As  they  stood  in  the  door  of  one  of  the  dairies, 


296 


Brooke  pointed  out  several  houses  for  tenants 
which  he  had  lately  built. 

"But  you  have  here  a  fine  estate  !  "  exclaimed 
Therese.  "You  have  been  most  fortunate." 

"I  deserve  no  credit,"  Brooke  said  eagerly. 
"We  owe  the  old  farm  and  homestead  to  my 
brother." 

There  was  a  moment  of  painful  silence. 

' '  We  heard  of  my'cousin  Edward's  death  in  Paris 
when  it  occurred,"  Mrs.  Soude  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"Yes,"  said  Calhoun,  "yes."  He  paused, 
frowning.  He  could  not  yet  control  his  voice 
when  he  spoke  of  Ned.  "He  only  lived  two 
years  after  our  marriage,"  he  said  presently, 
"and  he  chose  to  spend  them  abroad.  I  went 
over  twice  to  persuade  him  to  come  back.  But 
the  life  here  was  too  narrow — too  cramped  for 
him.  He  had  a  great,  generous  nature!  In 
those  two  years  he  painted  a  couple  of  pictures 
which  he  sold,  just  before  his  death,  for  a  large 
price.  I  inherited  the  money,  and  with  it  I 
cleared  off  all  claims  on  the  old  farm.  I  like  to 
think  of  it  as  Ned's  gift!  "  he  said,  looking  down 
at  the  fields  and  house  with  dim  eyes. 

Therese  glanced  keenly  at  Anne's  face,  but  it 
told  her  nothing. 

"That  woman  has  a  great  talent  for  silence," 
she  told  John  long  afterward.  "But  to  think  of 
her  spending  her  days  among  cows  when  she 
might  live  in  Washington!  She  could  push  her 
husband  into  office  there,  and  place  her  sons  as 
they  grew  up.  I  know  no  woman  with  more  per 
sonal  magnetism." 


297 


"Cows  are  better  companions  for  every  day 
than  Congressmen.  And  I  suppose  her  husband 
needs  her  at  home — magnetism  and  all,  as  I  do 
you,  Totty,"  said  honest  John,  who  was  foolishly 
fond  of  his  clever  wife. 

Brooke  that  afternoon  drove  them  over  to 
The  Oaks,  where  David  Plunkett  and  his  son  lived 
with  Doctor  Warrick.  The  doctor  walked  feebly 
as  he  escorted  Therese  gallantly  over  the  old 
house,  opening  at  last  his  cases  of  rare  prints  with 
much  pride. 

"These  are  a  foible  of  mine,"  he  said,  "in 
which  my  son  David  indulges  me.  He  thinks  I 
have  a  right  to  my  idle  play  now  after  a  life  of 
hard  work." 

"I  remember  your  devotion  to  science,  sir," 
Therese  said,  with  much  deference. 

"Yes,  yes!"  the  doctor  replied  vaguely,  but 
greatly  pleased.  "I  was  one  of  the  pioneers, 
madam,  one  of  the  pioneers!  These  later  fellows, 
Koch,  and — I  forget  their  names — have  all  the 
glory.  We  did  the  work,  and  they  got  the  credit." 

He  and  David  took  her  to  see  the  new  gym 
nasium  which  had  just  been  fitted  up  for  Boy. 
Plunkett  handled  the  clubs  and  rings  gravely. 
"Owing  to  circumstances,"  he  said,  "I  never 
myself  was  an  athlete.  Even  as  a  boy,  I  was 
large  of  my  age.  But  they  tell  me  that  my  son 
has  remarkable  ability  in  all  athletic  sports.  I 
wish  you  could  see  him  run.  He  goes  to  Prince 
ton  next  year,  and  I  have  no  doubt  will  take  a  first 
rank  in  all  their  contests." 

When  they    came   back    to    the  drawing-room 


298 


they  found  Mrs.  Dane,  who  had  come  out  to 
welcome  Therese.  She  had  altered  much  in  the 
last  decade.  Mr.  Franciscus,  her  nearest  com 
panion,  was  dead,  and  after  he  was  gone,  she  had 
allowed  herself  to  change  with  old  Luxborough. 
For  old  Luxborough  had  changed.  It  had  at  last 
given  up  its  leisurely  pace  and  now  kept  brisk  step 
with  the  times.  The  women  marched  in  com 
panies;  in  innumerable  clubs,  associations,  and 
guilds.  There  was  no  science,  however  recondite, 
which  some  battalion  of  them  did  not  attack;  no 
evil,  as  old  as  the  world,  which  the  young  girls  did 
not  drag  out,  to  peer  into  and  paw  over,  declar 
ing  that  they  were  the  first  to  discover  it  and  the 
*  first  to  cure  it. 

Mrs.  Dane  was  in  the  thick  of  the  moving 
armies;  her  very  nod  was  official;  her  voice  was 
that  of  one  who  speaks  for  an  organization. 

Her  especial  errand  now  was  to  find  from  Mrs. 
Soude  what  the  women  of  New  Orleans  were 
doing  in  biology,  and  whether  they  had  formed 
themselves  into  a  Municipal  Reform  Club. 

"It  'is  so  seldom,"  she  said,  "that  we  meet 
an  influential  Southern  woman.  We  are  most 
anxious  that  your  women  should  fall  into  line. 
My  own  especial  interest  lies  in  Archaeology 
and  Drainage.  But  it  is  essential  that  women 
should  combine  now  for  all  good  purposes.  It  is 
a  crisis.  The  world  has  been  misgoverned  by 
men  long  enough.  For  the  most  part  they  are 
brutes  or  fools.  If  the  human  experiment  is  to 
be  run  through  to  the  end  successfully,  our 
sagacity  and  purity  must  take  command." 


299 


Therese  listened  with  her  usual  kind,  calm 
smile.  "But  why  not  make  a  proselyte  nearer 
home  ?  "  she  said,  when  Mrs.  Dane  stopped  to 
catch  her  breath.  "  Does  not  Anne  neglect  her 
public  duties  ? " 

"  Oh,  wholly!  Her  farm,  Brooke,  the  children, 
two  or  three  friends,  and  her  work  people — there 
is  her  one-acre  lot  in  the  world!  It  is  women  like 
Anne  who  block  our  wheels!  " 

Therese  laughed,  and  skilfully  brought  the 
children  up  for  discussion.  She  was  curious 
about  Mildred's  son.  "An  honest,  lovable  look 
ing  lad!  "  she  said.  "  But  he  does  not  resemble 
either  father  or  mother?" 

"No.  He  is  very  like  Mildred's  mother. 
Now,  there  is  a  strange  thing!  "  said  cousin  Julia. 
"Sarah  Warrick  was  a  dull,  commonplace  woman ! 
but  she  has  left  her  mark,  deep,  on  all  of  her 
descendants.  When  I  look  at  Boy,  or  either  of 
Anne's  children,  I  feel  that  Sarah  is  living  still." 

Mrs.  Dane  left  The  Oaks  early  that  evening, 
to  go  to  a  suffrage  meeting,  and  in  a  little  while 
Mr.  Plunkett  put  Anne  and  Mrs.  Soude  into  their 
sleigh  and  saw  them  drive  away  writh  jingling 
bells,  making  a  flash  of  color  down  the  snowy 
road. 

The  sun  was  setting,  and  the  red  was  fading  out 
of  the  cold  sky.  David  buttoned  his  coat  and 
paced  up  and  down  the  porch.  The  sight  of  John 
Soude  had  wakened  old  uneasy  doubts  in  his  mind. 

"Thank  God!"  he  said  to  himself,  "I've  no 
fear  as  to  Milly!  It  was  me  she  loved  and  not 
that  dingy  mulatto!  " 


300 


But  it  was  natural  that  he  should  think  it  all 
over  and  measure  himself  against  the  dingy 
mulatto. 

"I  had  more  to  say  last  night  than  he  had. 
My  brain  is  as  good  as  any  man's  there,"  he 
repeated  anxiously,  again  and  again.  If  he  could 
only  have  said  something  decently  ?  Boy  would 
have  been  so  pleased! 

As  he  walked  up  and  down  he  could  see  Harry 
in  the  brightly  lighted  room,  bending  over  his 
books.  He  halted. 

"If  I  could  even  go  in  and  help  him  with  his 
lessons!  It  was  in  me  to  be  a  scholar,  but 
nobody  knows  it.  Boy  will  never  know  it!  " 

He  \valked  on,  whistling.  Usually  David  was 
content  with  his  business  and  his  cares  for  Harry 
and  the  old  doctor.  But  sometimes  he  felt  the 
.strength  that  was  in  him  to  do  wider  work  in 
the  world;  strength  that  could  never  be  used. 
Every  man  or  woman  over  fifty  has  felt  that 
struggle  in  the  soul,  that  choking  pant  of  unspent 
power. 

The  lad  inside  hastily  closed  his  Virgil  and 
came  out.  He  loved  his  father  passionately,  and 
he  had  Sarah  Warrick's  fine  tact.  He  knew  as 
soon  as  he  heard  the  whistle  that  David  was  in 
trouble:  so  he  took  his  arm  and  marched  up  and 
down  with  him,  whistling  too. 

Plunkett  laughed.  "  I've  been  worrying,  wish 
ing  you  knew  me  better,  Harry." 

"  Why,  I  know  you,  Dad." 

"No — not  altogether.  No.  But — it  don't 
end  here,  you  know,  hey?  For  instance,  I  don't 


301 


reckon  on  having  this  mass  of  fat  to  carry 
round — out  yonder.  There's  other  chances." 

Harry  naturally  cared  nothing  for  "  out 
yonder."  He  began  to  talk  of  Swift,  who  would 
play  half-back  to-morrow. 

But  Plunkett  gave  Vague  answers.  A  work 
man,  going  home,  passed  just  then  down  the 
road.  David's  eyes  suddenly  kindled.  He 
leaned  over  the  railing  looking  after  the  man. 

"Now  you  see,  Boy,"  he  said  earnestly,  "that 
fellow  has  tools  in  his  kit  that  he  didn't  use 
to-day.  He  doesn't  care.  He  knows  that  he'll 
have  them  and  use  them  to-morrow." 

"I  don't  quite  follow  you,  Dad." 

"  No.  You'll  understand  some  day.  It's  all 
right,"  said  David. 


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